My Name is Kenny
by Marcus Absent
Summary: Kenny has a curse: he can't die. How did he get this curse, and what will he do about it? There's hurt, love, betrayal, friendship, and the final truth awaiting for those who read. Rated T for some swearing. South Park doesn't belong to to me. COMPLETE
1. The Curse

My name is Kenneth McCormick. I am 14 years old, and I live in the town of South Park, in Colorado. Everyone calls me Kenny, and I always wear my orange parka wherever I go. My family lives in the poor section of town, and my parents are almost always drunk.

Some people would call being born into poverty a curse. I actually think of it as a blessing. Sure, it sucks that all my friends sometimes get all the cool toys and fancy vacations, and I don't. But being poor really teaches you to appreciate what you have, even if it's not much.

Besides, those people don't know shit about curses. But I do. I have a real one.

You see, I can't die.

Well, I guess that's not really true. I can die. In fact, I actually die all the time; that's part of the curse too, I guess. But I don't stay dead for long. Usually, I'm gone for about a day or less. Occasionally, I stay dead long enough to have a funeral (I've had about five or six, by the way). One time, when I was 9, I stayed dead for several months. But eventually, I just wake up in my bed, wearing my parka as usual, like nothing happened.

You probably don't believe me. No one does. Want me to describe Heaven for you? How about Hell? Well, let me tell you, if you want to avoid Hell, talk to Gary Harrison at Park County High School about becoming a Mormon, because they are the only ones who get to Heaven. Personally, I can't stand Mormons, but since I never stick around Heaven (or Hell) for long, I don't bother with it one way or the other.

But that isn't even the worst part of the curse. My friends don't even remember that I always manage to get myself killed, even when it happens right in front of them. Oh, it usually shocks them, and they scream "You bastards!" at no one in particular. But that's it; it's like I don't even matter to them after that. And whenever I eventually come back, it's as if I never died. They just say, "Oh, hey Kenny," as if seeing your friend die were the most natural thing in the world. Friends should be there to help you through your pain. My friends don't even know my pain.

I've tried to tell them, several times. The last time I tried was when I was 9; I shot myself in the head right after begging them to please, please remember this time. But it was the same as always; they just looked at me like I was crazy when I asked if they remembered that I had died. After that, I just gave up.

I don't know exactly where this power comes from; all I know is that I think it has something to do with the Cult of Cthulhu. My parents went to one of their meetings before I was born. But they were (by their own admission) too drunk to remember anything that happened there.

Over the years, I've just grown to accept it. My friends think they know me. They think I'm just someone who has nothing to say, who just sort of hangs out in the background. The truth is that I just don't see the point in life most of the time. Playing baseball sort of loses its appeal when you remember the time a ball hit you in the head and cracked your skull. Sitting around a campfire doesn't sound quite so fun if you're as accident prone as I am. I would probably commit suicide and just end it all if I thought it would do any good. But of course it won't. It never does.


	2. Getting a Date

**A/N: Thanks to the people who have reviewed so far! I already have a few chapters written, which I'm going to upload one at a time, but I still want to hear what you all have to say.**

Okay, I'm sorry about that last part. I'm usually not that morbid. In fact, I'm a pretty fun guy to be around most of the time. It's just that this pain is always underneath the surface, so I had to explain the pain before you could really understand me.

Anyway, on with the story I'm here to tell you: it was a Friday, and I was eating lunch at school with my friends. Stan was—oh wait: I completely forgot to tell you more about my friends, Stan, Kyle, and Eric. Stan Marsh is the guy no one can fool. Like me, he doesn't always say much, but when he has something to say, it's usually important. But he is cynical; he's sometimes critical of stuff to the point where it's really annoying. Stan has a girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger, and when he's around her, he's usually in a lighter mood. He also mistrusts adults, no matter who they are, and he's been really bad about that since his parents got divorced. I can't really blame him for hating adults; after seeing how much of an idiot his dad is, I'm really glad I have the one I got, even if he is a lazy bum.

Kyle Broflovski is Stan's best friend, but he's almost the opposite of Stan. He's usually pretty optimistic about life, and sometimes finds Stan's pessimism annoying, like I do. But, regardless, he and Stan are virtually inseparable, except in church; Kyle is Jewish, but Stan, Eric and I are all Catholic. No one really cares that Kyle is Jewish, except for Eric.

Eric Cartman is a bigoted, fat, selfish, spoiled kid who excels at being an all-around asshole. The rest of us usually wonder why we even hang out with him; he makes fun of Stan for having a girlfriend, and he makes fun of me for being poor. Of course, we make fun of him for being fat, so maybe we deserve it a little bit. But Eric is also the most anti-Semitic person ever to live outside Nazi Germany, which means he picks on Kyle even more than he picks on me and Stan. And Kyle hates Eric right back. I almost don't know how they can even call each other friends.

Personally, I can't make up my mind about Eric. I feel kind of sorry for him, because everyone hates him, and I know he'll be lonely and miserable when he grows up. It's a feeling that I can relate to. Stan and Kyle are best friends, so Eric generally considers me to be his best friend. I probably am. Of course, the problem with Eric is that he wouldn't hesitate to throw even his best friend under the bus—I mean that figuratively, although it has happened literally, too—to get what he wants.

Anyway, Stan was asking if any of us were going to ask a girl to go to the Homecoming Dance. He, of course, was going with Wendy. We were all really excited to be in high school, and I knew that dating was going to be even easier in high school than it had been before. I just wasn't sure who I would ask yet.

"I might ask Rebecca again," Kyle said, referring to the homeschool girl.

"You mean the slut?" Eric asked.

"She's not a slut, Cartman!" Kyle yelled.

"Hey, whoa, Kyle! Chill!" said Eric. "I don't care if you go out with a slut. I just thought it was only Kenny who did that."

"Yeah," I chipped in, although truthfully I was a little irritated that he had made that comment. Just because the girls I liked dressed more scantily than most didn't mean they were sluts. And just because I had been looking at porn since I was 7 years old didn't mean I was a pervert, either. Right?

"She's not a slut! That was a long time ago, and she's changed," Kyle insisted.

Eric called Rebecca Cotswalds a slut again, and they kept arguing. Stan and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes in aggravation. While the two of them kept at each other, I looked around the cafeteria to see if there was anyone else I could go to the dance with.

Bebe Stevens? No. She was on my blacklist for having killed me at least twice, although it wasn't intentional. Besides, I don't think she would look good naked. What? I mean…just in case…

Tammy Warner, the 10th grader? No. I still haven't forgiven her for our last relationship. A couple years ago, I took her to a stupid Jonas Brothers concert, just to get her pumped up for some sex, and wouldn't you know it? The bitch had syphilis! I mean, I don't necessarily blame her for having it, but it would have been nice to tell me about it first. Instead, I get to die a slow death from syphilis. That one was not fun.

Red Tucker? No. I almost did see her naked. She and I went on a date to a football game last year, and she was really sweet…until I invited her to come behind the bleachers, and she freaked out. I mean, really? Did she think I was going to rape her? If she didn't want sex, all she had to do was tell me; I can take rejection. Stupid girl. Now she probably wouldn't touch me with a 10 foot pole.

Heidi Turner? I looked at her walking across the cafeteria. Today she was wearing a sexy tube top. Hmm…Heidi Turner…perfect. I liked her, she was really pretty, and she might even be willing. I'd never been on a date with her before, so it would be a surprise no matter what happened.

"I think I'll ask Heidi," I said aloud. Kyle and Eric stopped arguing, and looked at me. Then they looked at Heidi. Then back at me. Even Stan joined in.

Finally, Eric laughed. "Ahahaha! Face it, Kenny; you're poor as shit. Even Kyle has a better chance of getting a date than you do." Kyle glared at him, although I couldn't tell whether it was indignation for my sake or his own.

I folded my arms and snorted. "I could show any girl a better time than you, fatass."

Eric laughed again. "Kenny, how many times do I have to tell you? No girl wants to eat a nice, romantic dinner at McDonald's, and that's all you can afford." I kept staring at him; I wasn't going to back down. "Alright, Kenny, I'll bet you $20 you won't get a girl to go with you," he finally proclaimed.

I grinned. "You're on." I stood up, displaying more confidence than I actually had. I didn't actually have $20 to give him if he won. Worse, he probably knew it. But I wasn't too worried. That's one advantage to my curse; little things like owing Cartman money don't bother you as much.

I had hardly taken five steps when I stopped dead (figure of speech). Heidi had just sat down with Red Tucker, and the two of them were chatting. If I went and asked Heidi out now, Red would probably tell her all about our date, and let Heidi know that I was a perverted rapist or something like that.

I could hear Eric trying to stifle a chuckle behind me. I'm sure he didn't know about Red and me, but he probably saw that I had stopped and thought I had lost the nerve. Well, I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. I walked over to the two girls. "Hey, Heidi!"

Both girls turned toward me. Red gasped and looked scared, but Heidi didn't notice her. "Yes?" she asked.

"You want to go to the Homecoming Dance with me?"

Heidi smiled. "Sure, Kenny. That sounds nice."

Hoping I wasn't pushing my luck, I added, "And how about dinner beforehand? I'll buy." With Cartman's money.

Red paled, but Heidi still didn't notice her. "Alright."

Score. "See you next weekend, then," I said, winking. She laughed. I walked back to my table with a spring in my step. Judging from the look on Eric's face, he was pretty pissed. Which was fine with me.

**A/N: Keep the reviews coming, guys!**


	3. Another Day

When I got back home later that day, I was all ready to drop off my books and go hang out at Eric's house. We were going to go play some Call of Duty on his Xbox; hopefully, Eric wasn't too sore about losing the bet.

After I asked Heidi out, I had asked Eric for his money right then. He had refused on the grounds that I hadn't taken Heidi to the dance yet, and something could happen between then and next Saturday. Selfish prick. He just didn't want to give me his damn money. But he was just grasping at straws; he was cornered, and we all knew it. Finally, he had gotten real pissed, called us all assholes, and stormed off. I didn't bring up the money again, and there was a possibility that he had cooled off since lunch. Maybe.

I walked in the door. Ahh...home sweet smelly home. Immediately, Mom called out "Kenny, is that you?"

Who else would it be? Kevin and Karen, my older brother and younger sister, should have already gotten back. Had she helped herself to Dad's vodka already? "Yeah, it's me," I answered. "I was just about to head over to Cartman's."

"Well, you need to go cut the grass before you go," she said.

"Really?"

"Kenny, listen to your mother!" Dad shouted, which wasn't necessary, since he had just walked into the hallway, and was four feet away from me. He looked a little drunk, too.

Shit. I hate cutting the grass. I hate anything that involves anything sharp, because it always ends the same way. No matter how careful I am, I end up with it in my eye or my head or my chest or my ass, and then I die. Fortunately, we don't cut the grass very often: just when it gets too high to see out the windows.

Deciding I might as well get it over with, I went out to the backyard to find the clippers. We can't afford a real lawn mower, so we used hedge clippers to cut the grass, which made it even less fun. Now, where were those clippers…they were probably somewhere under all that thick tall grass. I got on my hands and knees and searched, knowing that if I just walked around looking for them I would find them by stepping on them. I crawled around for a few minutes, and then noticed a black cape in front of me. I looked up and saw that it belonged to a faceless figure holding a scythe. Double shit.

This charming fellow was Death. He and I are very well acquainted, as you can probably guess. I first met him in person when I was 4 years old. I saw him appear in the living room and I backed up against the wall in terror. My finger brushed up against the crappy electrical outlet. As I died, I could have sworn I heard him laughing.

He didn't show up every time I died, but whenever he appeared in South Park it meant that someone was going to die. And usually that someone was me. I stood up, waiting to see what he would do. Death could kill you simply by tapping you on the shoulder, but he usually didn't. Since he hadn't touched me yet, I assumed he had something a little more creative planned for me.

"So. What's it going to be this time?" I started walking casually around the yard, waiting for whatever disaster to befall me. "Do I fall and impale myself on the hedge clippers? Do I get cut on a rusty nail? Or are you actually here to take someone else?" I leaned up against a tree, crossed my arms, and stared Death right in the face.

Death didn't move. But far above my head, I heard a sharp crack. I quickly jumped forward just as something fell right where I had been standing. "Ha! You missed!" I yelled, showing Death my middle finger.

But I spoke too soon. I turned around to look at whatever had fallen, which I had assumed to be a branch. It wasn't.

It was a yellow jacket nest.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK! This one was going to suck hairy monkey balls.

I started running, even though I knew it wouldn't do any good. I could hear the yellow jackets buzzing right behind me. Pain erupted all over my body as they started to sting me. I jumped into the street, screaming, almost hoping a car would come along and end it quicker.

Death was probably laughing his ass off.

* * *

><p>I actually made it all the way to Eric's house before collapsing. It was just my luck that there were no rampaging drivers around when I actually needed one. It was also my luck to be pretty allergic to yellow jacket venom.<p>

With my last breath, I chuckled a little. Even with being allergic to yellow jackets, I had made it a whole 14 years without being killed by it. Until today.

Then I died. Right outside the Cartmans' living room window. My friends were all inside, playing video games and eating cheesy poofs. Stan glanced out the window and gasped. "Oh my God! They killed Kenny!"

Man, I sure would like to know who this "they" is, because I would like to have a word with them.

Kyle then screamed, "You bastards!"

Indeed they were.

Eric didn't take his eyes off the screen. After a few seconds, the others lost interest and continued playing.

Assholes.


	4. My Mom

I finally woke up. I had been floating in nothingness for what felt like hours, but it was finally over. Limbo sure was boring.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Kenny, you said you went to Heaven or Hell." Well, sometimes I do. But I usually go to Limbo, which is this big…well, as I said, it's nothing. There's literally nothing in Limbo.

I've only been to Heaven three times; once when I sacrificed myself to save the world, once when the angels needed me to save them from Satan's army, and once when I converted to Mormonism for a while.

I've been to Hell a lot more, but it's usually only after I've done something bad (or, as I say, naughty), like when I skipped out on church to go see Asses of Fire. Or when I killed myself via autoerotic asphyxiation (which was totally worth it, but don't try it; you don't get to come back afterwards, like I do). The rest of the time, I go to Limbo. I guess Satan was tired of dealing with me all the time.

So, anyway, I finally woke up. I didn't have any wasp stings, but I could still feel them. Phantom pains. I looked out the window, and saw that it was nighttime. So much for going over to Eric's.

Since I wasn't tired at all, I walked around the house to see if anyone else was awake. I didn't hear a sound coming from my siblings' rooms, and my parents' room was as silent as the grave (yeah, yeah, that was a pretty bad joke). But when I got to the living room, I heard the sound of sobbing.

It was my mom.

"It's all my fault," she sniffed, talking apparently to herself. "Why did I listen to them? Why did I get involved?"

I cleared my throat. She looked up, startled. "Oh, Kenny, you're awake." She tried to look as though she hadn't been crying, but her eyes were still very red and puffy.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Oh, it was just something stupid that I did," she said. Ordinarily, I might have let it go at that, but she looked more upset than I had ever seen her.

Now, please understand: anything I've said against my parents so far is really just teen angst coming out of me. I consider myself very lucky to have the parents I do. They aren't idiots like Stan's dad. They are overbearing bitches like Kyle's mom. They aren't wimpy pushovers like Eric's mom. And they aren't brutal dictators like the Stotches: poor Butters probably has it worse than any of us.

Sure, my parents are drunks. Sure, they are poor. They are lazy. They do fight with each other, and I sometimes smell weed coming from their room at night. But despite that, despite all their own difficulties, they have never treated their children with anything but the love and respect that a kid can expect from his parents. They have taken more shit from life than anyone I know (except me), and they don't take it out on their kids, and so I think I probably have the best parents a kid in South Park could ask for.

And this concern for my parents was what prompted me to wonder what was making my mom so sad. "What was it?" I asked.

She shook her head, not wanting to answer.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

She sniffed back another tear. "Just…just be careful, Kenny…"

I laughed in spite of myself. "I do try, Mom." Though being careful rarely worked.

"I just…don't think I could bear to see it again…"

Suddenly, I got a lump in my throat. I wasn't sure why, but I felt a sense of foreboding. "Um…see what?"

She didn't answer, and I definitely got the feeling it was something about me. And suddenly the answer hit me like a train (though not quite as painfully).

"You mean, you don't want to see me die again, do you?"

She stopped crying and stared at me in shock, and I knew I had guessed correctly. We both looked at each other as though seeing each other for the first time. My mom, Carol McCormick, knew of my curse, and had never told me she knew. But the way she was looking at me…it was like she didn't know that _I_ had known.

"Kenny, you know?" she asked, her voice frail with horror.

"Yeah. I remember every single time." I paused. "And you remember?"

"Yes, I do. And if I hadn't been so stupid, maybe none of it would have happened."

I looked at her, sorry that she was so upset, and also a little mad that she had known something all this time. "Mom, can we please talk about this?"

"I don't know if I can…"

"It's about the cult meeting, wasn't it?"

She stopped. I realized that I wasn't supposed to know that; she had told Mysterion about the Cult of Cthulhu, not me.

"All right, I'll tell you," she said. "But…I think I'll need to get a drink first." She got up and walked to the kitchen.

"Mom?" I asked.

"Yes, Kenny?"

"Can I have one, too?"

She understood.

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><p><strong>AN: What will Mrs. McCormick tell Kenny? I'll put up the next chapter soon, but I want to see what you all think. Review, please. And speculate, speculate, speculate. Those who make correct guesses in this story reserve the right to gloat.**


	5. What Happened that Night

**Alright, here is the chapter you've been waiting for.**

Minutes later, we were back in the living room, each with a cup of vodka, ready to find the truth.

"So, how did you find out about the cult?" she started.

Allow me to back up for a moment. I sometimes wander the night as a vigilante, who is known as Mysterion. I've been doing this for several years now, long after all of my other friends (even Eric) stopped playing superhero. As it turned out, I had only been at it a few months before I was found out, and my identity made known to the public. Since then, I've had to be more careful.

But anyway, during this time, I had made some late-night stops by my parents' room. I guess they hadn't heard the news that their son was Mysterion (Eric always did say poor people didn't watch the news. I really hate it when he's right). I had used my position as a crime fighter to try and, um, convince my parents to stop fighting so much, and to stop getting high every night. It hadn't done much good, but it was something.

And it was during these conversations that I found out about the cult. They told me about once going to one of the cult's meetings, because they were serving free beer. Sigh…

"You told Mysterion about going to the cult meeting," I told her.

My mom's eyes widened. "How do you-"

I had briefly considered not telling her the truth. But it looked like she was going to be very honest with me. And in hindsight, I did feel kind of guilty about manipulating (you could even say threatening) my drunken parents while dressed in a black cape and mask.

"I'm actually Mysterion," I admitted. "And I'm sorry for tricking you."

She didn't look as upset about that as I had thought she would be, which was a relief. "Well, yes, we went to a cult meeting. It was almost 15 years ago, just a few days before you were born. But it was just one, and that was it."

"Ok," I said. "Go on."

"We had heard about the meeting that afternoon. They were offering free beer to their members and visitors, and your father thought that was a good idea. I didn't drink back then (and, being pregnant, I wouldn't have drank even if I had), but I thought it would do us some good to get out."

"Wait," I interrupted. "So you didn't drink anything while you were there?"

"No," she said. "Anyway, at the meeting, they did a lot of voodoo and magic, and reading from a strange book, and I started to get a little anxious. I didn't think anything serious would happen, but I was starting to get creeped out. Finally, near the end of the meeting, the leader asked if there were any visitors at the meeting. Against my better judgment, your father and I stood up. The leader noticed that I was pregnant, and offered to bless the baby. Before I could stop him, his voice turned strange and he said something like:

_May the dark and mighty Cthulhu bless this child, and keep him safe from harm._

"I breathed a sigh of relief. They seemed to have good intentions, and I didn't think anything else of it.

"A few days later, you were born. You were such an adorable baby, Kenny, all wrapped up in an orange blanket. Kevin was excited to have a little brother, and we were all happy to take you home with us.

"But, on the way back…" Mom's voice broke, traumatized. Through a sea of tears, she pressed forward. "We were driving back home. There was a wreck, and…you got thrown out the shattered windshield.

"I saw your tiny body on the street, every bone broken, and I passed out from shock. Your dad was able to get an ambulance, but there was nothing anyone could do; it was already too late. You were less than a week old, and we thought we had lost you forever."

I listened on, not making a sound. Too horrified to move.

"That night, as I cried myself to sleep, I suddenly felt pain in my stomach. I looked down, and saw that my belly had swollen, like I was pregnant again. I didn't know what had happened, but Stuart and I had no time to think; I started to give birth again. When the baby came out, I took one look at his face, and knew that he was the same boy that had come out a few days before. I didn't know what to think. Your father and I stayed up all night trying to find out what had happened. In the morning, Stuart called the mortician to find out what had happened to your body, but he didn't know what we were talking about.

"And then I remembered the 'prayer' that the cult leader had said over my womb, and I got scared. I thought that my dead child had been resurrected through unholy magic. I panicked. I grabbed you, ran all the way to Stark's pond, and let you drop. You sank into the water like a stone.

"The next night, you were born a third time. I needed to talk to someone, but I didn't dare return to the cult, so I decided to take you to Father Maxi. I told him everything that had happened. He didn't believe me at first. After I managed to convince him, he went on a rant against the cult until I finally told him to shut up. I didn't want to hear a lecture; I wanted to help my son.

"After a long moment, he said he didn't know what to do. He sounded like he was ashamed to admit it. He quickly told me that he would be willing to help any way he could. Over the next few days, he tried everything: he prayed over you, and I went to confession. He even attempted an exorcism. But it didn't work; you died again a week later.

"When I came to tell him that his methods had failed, he didn't have any idea what I was talking about. He and I got in an argument, but he couldn't remember anything I had told him about your death. Finally, I got frustrated and left.

"As time went on, you died again and again. Five times…then ten times…then fifty times. Soon, I lost track. Every time, you were reborn after less than a day. Every time, no one remembered that you had died, except your father and I. Sometimes, people didn't even seem to notice you.

"Finally, I realized there was nothing that we could do. We kept going to church, even more than we used to, hoping that any little thing we did might make things easier for you. Your father suggested alcohol might make things easier to cope with, and so I tried it. I began drinking, and your father began drinking more, trying to drown out the pain. It almost worked; we don't spend every moment of the day remembering the curse. But each time you die, it hits us just like the first time. Your father's alcoholism became so bad that he was fired from the few jobs he could find, and we lost even more money. And no one else knows, or cares."

I sat there for a moment, not knowing what to think.

So that was it. The reason for all of it.

We lived in a moldy old shack, eating frozen waffles for dinner.

My parents spent each day in agony, with only alcohol to ease it.

No one knows enough to help them.

And it was all because of me.

Because of this.

This. Fucking. Curse.

I reached into my pocket, and touched my gun. The gun that Stan's uncle Jimbo had given me. The gun that I kept in the pocket of my parka at all times, in case I got hurt and needed it to ease the pain. It had a clip of eight bullets

I was so mad at myself, and at my curse, that I wanted to take each of those bullets and shoot myself. Somewhere nonfatal, where I would die slowly and painfully, if at all. Because that was what I deserved. For bringing this upon my family. For being so caught up in my own problems that I didn't realize the curse my parents were under. That was what I wanted to do.

But I couldn't do it. Not in front of my mom.

"Oh, Kenny…" Mom said. "If only I had known…"

"That I knew? Mom…there was nothing you could have done about that. You made a mistake. It…happens to everyone, I guess. It's just that we got a little more screwed over than everyone else."

"I guess so," she agreed. And then she hugged me, like I was the most precious thing in the world to her.

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><p>Later that night, I came up with a plan.<p>

**Well, there you have it. The cause of everything in Kenny's life. That's given you all something to think about, I'll bet.**

**Any ideas about what Kenny's plan is? Reviews and speculations are always appreciated.**


	6. The Plan

On Sunday, I walked into the studio. It had taken even less time than I expected to arrange an on-the-air interview. I wanted to talk about my curse. And I wanted everyone to hear it.

Talking to Mom the other night had given me an idea. If she remembered me dying, then wasn't it possible that some other people did, too? I already knew my friends didn't remember, so I wasn't too concerned about that, but I wanted to see if anyone else did.

I also knew that most shows wouldn't let me talk about the curse, just because they wouldn't believe me. Fortunately, there was one show that would. And it was aired right here in South Park. "Jesus and Pals."

I walked up to the chair on the stage. The studio audience looked at me, not sure what to think. They might have thought I was going to eat manatee guts again—that's a long story, but basically I was promoting my own show, "Krazy Kenny," on "Jesus and Pals." On "Krazy Kenny," I did all sorts of messed up stuff for money, but eventually I landed in some trouble and had to cancel it—but this time I was doing something much more serious.

Sitting across from me was the host of the show. The lord and savior, Jesus Christ.

I don't think anyone in this crazy town knows why Jesus lives here. I mean, there's certainly nothing worthy about this town that would make Jesus want to live here. Maybe it's just that everyone here is so stupid that it doesn't occur to them how strange it is that Jesus came down in human form in the 21st century, and hosting a TV show of all things. I guess it's kind of like my situation; you'd think people would notice it if a little kid died every other day, and was back the next morning.

"So, you still believe me, right?" I asked Jesus quietly, so the audience wouldn't hear.

"Of course, my son," Jesus said. I was glad that at least someone believed me. Maybe it was because He had some experience in coming back to life. I wondered if He was jealous, since He had only come back once, and I had several hundred up on Him. That would be pretty funny.

The director spoke up. "We're on in 5…4…3…2…1."

Action.

"Yea. Believe in me and ye shall be saved," Jesus began. "Today, we are joined here by Kenny McCormick, who wants to speak to our listeners. Kenny?"

"Thank you, Jesus," I said. I pulled my hood off, so the audience could hear me better.

"I want to tell you all something. You all will probably not believe me, but I want you to listen." Deep breath. "I can't die. I've been killed many times before, but every time, I am reborn again in my mother's womb. But, as far as I know, no one ever remembers that I die except for my mom and dad. I am willing to talk to callers about it, but what I really want to know is if anyone else remembers."

The audience was dead silent. Well, I had half expected them to laugh, so it wasn't too bad. Jesus decided to ask a question of His own. "So, would I be correct in assuming that you have seen Heaven and Hell?"

"Yes. I've been to both."

"Is there anything you would like to share with audience about them?"

"Well, Satan is a real jerk, so you probably want to be good so you can go to heaven." Jesus chuckled a little at the joke. There were a few laughs from the audience, too, but I was glad when the phone rang, because I didn't want to keep talking about Heaven and Hell. That wasn't why I was here.

"Hello, caller, you're on the air. Go ahead, please," Jesus said.

"Kenny, I want you to stop spreading lies." I recognized Father Maxi's voice. "God doesn't take kindly to people who lie for attention." Then I heard the dial tone. Well, so much for that. After everything my mom had said, I wasn't feeling too happy with Father Maxi right now.

"Well, Kenny," Jesus said, "it seems that there are some people who are skeptical of your story. Is there anything you would like to add to try and convince them that your story is true?"

I did have one idea, but I wasn't going to use it just yet. "No. You see, Jesus, I'm not trying to convince anyone. If they don't remember, then they will forget me telling them as well, as soon as I die again. And if they do remember, then I don't need to convince them of anything; they already know."

"Can you prove it?" someone from the audience called out. A few others agreed.

"Well, technically, I could, but I don't want to," I said. "Because it wouldn't do any good. And it really, really hurts."

Another call came in. "Hello, caller, you're on the air," said Jesus.

"Kenny, what the hell are you doing?" It was Kyle.

"Oh, I don't know, Kyle. Just reaching out. Maybe I'm trying to find some people who actually give a rat's ass about me." The words were out before I could stop them. I mean, I was pissed at him, but I hadn't intended on calling him out like that on TV. Or Stan, for that matter.

Over the phone, I heard Eric laughing in the distance. That probably meant that all three of them were watching the show together. "That goes for you too, fat boy!" I yelled, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear.

"Ey!"

I hadn't planned on calling out Stan and Kyle, but I suppose I could make an exception in Eric's case.

Kyle struggled for words. "Kenny…I didn't mean it like that. I know we don't always pay attention to you, but this isn't how you should cope with it. You don't need to do all this just to get our attention. You're our friend."

I sighed. "I wish that were it, Kyle. But everything I said was the truth. And I've already told you—you didn't remember, and you didn't believe me…So, unless you have something else you would like to ask me, I would like to hear from someone else, now."

I could tell he was trying to think of what to say, but eventually, he just hung up. Immediately, another call came in.

Tammy Warner's voice came over the phone. "Hi, Ken. I just wanted to say that even though I can't remember you dying at all, I believe you. I'm sorry; that must be really tough."

Tammy believed me. Well, that makes one, even though there was still no one who remembered. Maybe I could forgive her for giving me syphilis after all…

"Thank you, Tammy. That means a lot to me," I said.

* * *

><p>I got about five more calls in the next three minutes, and my excitement quickly vanished. Nearly everyone was calling in to say that they didn't believe me, and that they thought I should be put in an asylum. I was starting to think this whole thing was a bad idea. Then the next call came.<p>

"Kenny?"

I gulped. It was Heidi Turner. The girl I was going to the dance with. Oh, shit.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to let you know that you have officially scared the shit out of me. I was going to ignore what Red told me about you, but you are FUCKING NUTS! And I am NOT going to the dance with you!"

Click.

Well, things were going about as bad as they could possibly get.

It turned out that I was wrong . The next call came in.

"Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyaaah nyaaah! Ha ha ha ha haaa haaa!" Eric's voice jeered over the line. Salt on the wounds.

Eric hung up. Even Jesus looked surprised at how quickly and brutally the abuse was coming in.

Time to bring in Plan B.

"Ok, everyone," I said. "It seems pretty clear that you all don't believe me. However, you are all listening to me. You have all heard my story. How many people are watching this show?"

One of the camera crew started to check, but Jesus immediately answered, "Over 20,000 people across Colorado." One of his better tricks; multiplying loaves and fishes is really overrated.

"That's a lot of people," I continued. "It's possible that the people who might remember haven't seen me die yet. Well, it's time to fix that. Jesus, do you know if my mother's watching?"

"No, she is not."

That was good. I hadn't told her I was going to be on TV. Because I didn't want her to see this next part.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my gun. Several people screamed, and the two security guards at the back of the studio drew their weapons. Before they could aim at me, I put the gun barrel up against my own temple.

"Please remember," I prayed. Jesus nodded.

Then, in front of 20,000 people, I pulled the trigger and blew my own brains out.


	7. The Girl

**Here's the next chapter. Unfortunately, it does contain some filler, but it did give me a chance to sneak in some characters I wouldn't have been able to include otherwise.**

I had come back to life by Monday morning. As I left for school, I checked to see if anyone had called me about yesterday's broadcast. Nope.

I had hoped that maybe my little stunt would have jogged a few memories. But it was starting to look like either no one knew, or no one had the sense to tell me they knew.

School was miserable like always, but today seemed even worse, possibly just because I was in a bad mood. I finally managed to get through the day. The guys didn't seem to have any plans for the day, so I just started to walk home. I had gotten about two blocks when-

-POW! I got kicked from behind. I fell down to the ground, the wind knocked out of me.

"Get him!" someone yelled. In my dazed state, I couldn't tell who it was.

Immediately more blows followed. There had to be about three people kicking and punching me. Can you imagine? Some gang beating up a poor kid in the middle of the street? Where were my friends when I needed them? Or Officer Barbrady, for that matter?

The blows stopped, and I lay beaten and bruised on the sidewalk for a moment. Then two rough pairs of hands grabbed my shoulders and heaved me to my feet. I looked up through my half closed eyes and saw a tall boy with black hair, a blue chullo, and narrowed eyes. Craig Tucker. Instead of flipping me off, like he usually did, he was cracking his knuckles.

Behind him, I could see Jimmy Valmer standing behind him, leaning on his crutches. He didn't really look mad at me, like Craig did; his unfocused eyes were staring at me like they had never seen me before. I started putting two and two together; glancing from side to side, I confirmed that it was Clyde Donovan and Token Black that were holding my arms. Guess Craig's gang was all here (except for Tweek, but he's not really the aggressive type).

I looked back at Craig. "Seriously, dude?" I said, spitting out blood. "What the fuck?"

Craig cocked his fist and punched me right in the face. I could feel my nose break. "My cousin, that's what, you fucking bastard!"

His cousin…Red. Oh, now I get it. Man, if she was getting Craig to beat me up, then this whole situation with her had really gotten out of hand. I had always managed to stay on Craig's good side, but it wasn't that hard, since he rarely got angry about anything.

But he was mad now. I really couldn't blame him; if I really had raped his cousin (or even tried to), then I would deserve every bit of this beating. It's probably how I would react if the situation were reversed. The only problem is that that wasn't what happened.

"Look Craig, I can explain-" I started, but he interrupted me with another blow to the face.

"There's nothing to explain! Red told me that you tried to rape her! We all knew that you were a fucked up pervert, Kenny, but I didn't think you stooped that low."

I personally didn't think HE would stoop low enough to do a gang bang. I mean, he and Token were both assholes, but this was pretty bad, even for them. Even more surprising was that Clyde was involved, since he was usually pretty nice (but then again, he was a wimp, so he could have been roped into this easily). And Jimmy…I guess he wasn't personally beating me, but he was still just standing there, letting it happen.

He kept on beating me, blow after blow. I tried breaking free of his two thugs, but to no avail; Clyde's grip weakened slightly, but I had no chance of getting away from Token: that guy was a wall of muscle.

Finally, Jimmy yelled, "S-stop it, Cr-craig! He's had en-en eeh (come on, Jimmy, get it out) enough!"

"Almost," Craig sneered. "Give me your crutch, Jimmy."

Jimmy realized what he meant about the same time I did. "N-n-n-no!"

Craig snatched one of his crutches, throwing Jimmy off balance. Even Token and Clyde looked shocked by what Craig was going to do, and they let go of me. I tried to run, but I collapsed in pain before I had taken two steps. Craig calmly walked over to me and dealt me eight or nine crushing blows with the crutch. By the time he was finished, I was just a bloody mass of meat lying on the concrete. Craig handed Jimmy back his crutch, and leaned over me, his usually emotionless voice filled with menace:

"If you ever touch my cousin, I'll kill you." Yes, please do. And not so painfully next time.

Craig walked away, and motioned for the others to follow him. I lay there for a moment, gasping for breath. When Craig and his gang were gone, I slowly reached into my pocket for my gun, determined not to lie in pain any longer than I had to. This wasn't easy, since it felt like my arm was broken.

Finally, I managed to pull my gun out and bring it to my head. As I was pulling the trigger, I noticed that there was someone watching me from across the street. It was a girl about my age, with blue eyes and curly blonde hair, and wearing a pink coat that she clutched at like she was extremely cold. She was staring at me with a look of amazement, not like she had just seen a beating, but like she had just met a celebrity. Who was she? I had the vague feeling that I had seen her before, but I couldn't remember what her name was.

Then everything went dark.

* * *

><p>I woke up almost immediately. That was probably the shortest rebirth I had had in a while. Add that to the most painful beating I had had in a long while, and this day pretty much evened out.<p>

"Kenny!"

My mom was yelling at me. Oh, shit! I had forgotten that she had to give birth to me every time I died. And I had just committed suicide twice in the past two days; I needed to keep an eye on that. I got up, and called out, "What is it, Mom?"

"There's someone here to see you."

Who could that be? Hopefully, it was Stan or Kyle, or even Eric, asking me to come over to their house. I needed to take my mind off things, and there was nothing that playing some video games with friends couldn't help.

And hopefully it's not Craig.

I walked to the front door and opened it. Then I gasped.

It was the girl.

**Okay! Next chapter will be up soon, but in the meantime, please review. While you're at it, see if you can take a guess at who this newcomer is (it is _not_ an OC or anyone else I made up; it is actually someone from the show).**


	8. Just Like Me

"Hi, Kenny…" she said, timidly. "May I come in?"

I was too shocked to refuse, so I let her in. How did she know me? How had she found me?

Then I realized it: she must have seen the broadcast, and, more importantly, remembered. My heart leaped in my chest.

She stood there, looking at me. I looked at her. Neither of us seemed really sure what to say. Finally I broke the silence. "I don't want to seem rude, but I don't think I know you. Have we met?"

"Yes," she said. "We used to go to school together, but I've been homeschooled since fourth grade, so you probably don't remember me. My name is Elizabeth Brown, but everyone calls me Lizzy."

Lizzy? The name sounded familiar, but I still couldn't put my finger on it.

"I just wanted to tell you that I remembered when you died on TV, and when you killed yourself an hour ago in the street. I was really shocked that everyone else just seemed to forget about it a few hours after it happened." she said.

YES! "You don't know how glad I am to hear that, Lizzy," I said. "I was starting to think that no one remembered besides my parents." Then a thought occurred to me. "Do you have any idea why you might remember?"

"Actually, I do," she said. But then her mouth clammed up, and she started shaking. I guess it hadn't occurred to me how traumatizing the whole experience might have been for her. Seeing someone die meant little to me, since I had died so many times, but I guess if you saw someone come back to life after seeing them die, you might be frightened out of your wits.

But I had to get her to talk. I didn't want to spook her, or force her to speak, but I was desperate to hear what she knew. It could be the answers I had been looking for all this time. "Don't be scared," I whispered. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"Well, I think I might be like you…" she finally said.

Wait. "As in?"

"As in, I don't think I can die, either."

Wow. That hadn't been the answer I had expected to hear. I had been hoping I might find someone who remembered, or even more people who believed me, like Tammy. I had never dreamed I would find someone who was actually immortal, like me.

Or "might be" immortal, like she said. I needed to not get my hopes up.

"Like I said," she continued, "I used to go to South Park Elementary with you. In third grade, me and some of the girls challenged you guys to a sledding race."

I thought about it. Trying to remember.

"The fat kid on your team got in trouble with the police, and was put in juvie, and we thought we were sure to win."

Oh yeah! Eric had hit Token with a rock, and people had accused him of a hate crime. The racist bastard probably deserved it, but we needed his fat ass for that race. So I had tried to smuggle him out of the country so he wouldn't be arrested, but we got caught.

Now that I think about it, I wasn't at the actual race, having been accidentally killed by Stan and Kyle during a test run (those bastards). When I finally got there, they told me that Cartman had been released, and they had won the race, and then they asked me why I had ditched them. I wanted to punch them in the face. But I was also pretty sure I remembered Lizzy, now.

"What happened?" I asked.

Lizzy started to shake again, but she pressed on. "During the race, there was an accident, and our sled crashed. All of us fell off, dazed. And then something picked me up from behind. The girls all looked at whatever was carrying me in shock, but couldn't do anything to help. I finally twisted around enough to see what was holding me.

"It was a bear. A big, brown (she quivered even more), grizzly bear. I got so scared that I fainted.

"When I woke up, I was at my house, in my bed, and I had no idea how I had gotten there. I talked to the girls, but they didn't know anything about it. Neither did my parents, and neither did anyone else that I asked. But what was really strange was how pale I looked whenever I saw myself in the mirror. Almost like…a ghost.

"I was so shaken by what had happened that I quit school the next year, and took lessons at the Cotswolds' house; they were glad to teach me along with Rebecca. I tried to stay inside as much as possible, because I was so scared of the world. And that's how I was for years.

"Then, yesterday, Rebecca and I were watching TV and we saw your program. When you killed yourself, I was so shocked at first, but after about two hours I brought it up, and Rebecca had no idea what I was talking about. I realized that I remembered, and I was scared. And then I remembered the bear, and I started to wonder if I had actually died then, and come back, just like you did. Do you think there is anything you can do to help me?"

Well, this was all a lot to take in. Everything she said sounded like my situation, but there was no way to be sure.

"So, it was just the one time?" I asked.

"Yes," Lizzy said. "If I had known there was someone else, I would have spoken up sooner, but I was never around."

"That's okay," I said. "Don't blame yourself for that."

Suddenly, I got this feeling. It had just occurred to me how very attractive this girl was. And I don't mean the way I'm normally attracted to girls; just because I'm a sex addict doesn't mean I don't know what the difference between lust and love is (I just choose to ignore it most of the time). It wasn't an aroused feeling like I get when I read Playboy. It was that warm feeling, like…she was_ the one_! Not quite love at first sight, but almost. She was someone I needed to keep close, just in case I ever gave up my normal habits, and needed a real relationship.

"Hey, Lizzy…"

"Yes?" She looked at me with glistening eyes, not seeing me as someone who has "cool powers" or is a freak who can't die, but someone who knows my pain, understands it, and looks up to me for my strength. That's something that no one's really done before. I liked it.

"I was wondering if you would like to go to the high school Homecoming Dance with me?"

"Because that other girl turned you down?" she said, smiling.

Well, yeah. That too.

"I think I want to get to know you better. If you are like me, and there is some answer to our curse, I think it's only fitting that we try and solve this mystery together. What do you say?"

Lizzy looked at me for a minute. Then she threw her arms around me.

Damn, I'm good.

"Kenny, maybe if we go to the TV station, they'll have proof, since you died in front of the cameras," Lizzy said into my ear. "If you show that to your friends, then they'll have to believe you."

Wow! Why had I never thought of that? I guess homeschooled kids really were smart. We immediately set off for the TV station. I practically skipped down the street (something I had never done before), because today I was the happiest man on the face of the earth.

**I hope you all liked this chapter. Congratulations to _RB Whiffet_, who successfully guessed who Lizzy was. **


	9. Anything to Win

Well, that feeling of happiness sure had faded fast.

As it turned out, Lizzy's great plan unfortunately didn't work. We had gotten to the studio where they aired "Jesus and Pals," asked to see the footage, and it had graciously been presented. We were about halfway through it, now, and I was getting more pissed by the second. Apparently, instead of going on the show to talk about my curse, I had gone on to see if there was anyone who had wanted me to continue my show, "Krazy Kenny."

And the callers? Well…

Father Maxi had called, and told me not to be stupid.

Kyle had called to say I didn't have to try and get attention this way.

Tammy wasn't too hot about the idea, but said she would support me if I chose to reboot the show.

Heidi was now coming on.

"_Are you kidding me, Kenny? That's so disgusting: you are FUCKING NUTS! I changed my mind; I am NOT going to that dance with you! You stay away from me!"_

Then Eric, of course, had gloated about me losing my date.

Each event had happened almost exactly as I remembered it, except neither my death nor any mention of it was there. Everything fit, but it was all a lie.

Finally, I watched as the me on the screen had finally cracked and run off the stage in embarrassment, much to the amusement of the crowd. This whole thing was even more humiliating than what had actually happened! I looked like an idiot on that show!

As if she could read my thoughts, Lizzy put her hand on my shoulder and said, "You weren't that bad when you actually went on." Then she frowned. "I could have sworn that would work."

Truth be told, there had been a small voice at the back of my mind that had told me it wouldn't work. "If the curse can change everyone's memories so that no one remembers, it makes sense that it could also make sure there wasn't any evidence of my death left for anyone to see," I said.

Jesus, who had watched the show with us, shook his head. "I'm sorry, son."

Lizzy was holding back tears, frustrated that we had come so close. "Mr. Christ, you remember, right?"

"Of course, my dear. You are both apparently immortal, but if anyone else knows that, they have yet to step forward," Jesus finished.

"Well," Lizzy said, "couldn't you tell them all the truth?"

Jesus shook His head. "I'm afraid that wouldn't do any good."

"But-but you're Jesus! They have to believe You!" Lizzy wailed.

"I said a lot of things in the Bible, and not everyone believed that," Jesus said. Kind of hard to argue with that logic.

Once again, I sank into my typical resignation that I would be the only one to know of my curse. It would be a little better now that I had Lizzy for company, but we had come so fucking close that it felt like we were being robbed all over again. A glimmer of hope had been dropped into our hands before being ripped away. It was just cruel.

"Goddammit!" I growled. Then, seeing the stern look on Jesus's face, I uttered a quick apology.

* * *

><p>I had to go back to school the next day, and the only thing I was looking forward to was getting through it as quickly as possible so I could spend some time with Lizzy. School meant nothing me anymore; nobody there but Craig, who was probably waiting to beat me up again, a bunch of clueless teachers, and the assholes more commonly known as my "friends."<p>

First period was History, as taught by Herbert Garrison, who used to be our old elementary school teacher. About a year ago, someone had finally figured out that Garrison was too fucked up in the head to teach 4th graders, and so they had decided to let him teach somewhere where his antics wouldn't permanently scar little kids: in other words, high school. It made a little bit of sense, but that didn't change how much it sucked for those of us who thought we had been rid of him forever.

At least he didn't wear that stupid puppet, anymore.

As Garrison talked on about witch hunts, Eric leaned over towards me. "You got my money, Kenny?" he asked snickering.

"The dance isn't for another five days, fat boy." I said.

"Whaddya mean? We had a deal, Kenny!"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, so when I ask for the money in advance, I'm an asshole, but when you do it, it's ok?"

Cartman grumbled.

"And by the way," I continued, working up a smile, "I don't owe you any money, because I got another date."

That got the attention of several of the other boys, including (to my chagrin) Craig. "Who did you get?" asked Stan.

I winked. "That's a secret."

"Aw, come on, Kenny, you can tell us," Butters pleaded.

"My lips are sealed," I said. I couldn't let Eric know who my date was, because I was sure he would do anything to win the bet. Although it might be a good idea to let Craig know it wasn't his cousin before he went ape-shit on me like yesterday.

Eric's face was getting redder and redder by the second. It looked like steam was about to come out of his ears. "He's bluffing, you guys," he finally managed. "He doesn't really have a girl."

I just grinned. "Want a way out, Cartman? How about we raise the stakes?"

Cartman listened.

"Since I'm not a selfish bastard like you, I'll give you a chance. Now _you_ have to come to the dance with a girl. If we both have girls, or if neither of us have girls, then nobody owes anybody anything. And if you have a date, but I don't, then I'll owe you $30, instead of $20."

Eric nodded, liking the sound of it so far.

"But," I went on, "if _I_ have a date and _you_ don't…" The grin slid off Eric's face, but he quickly recovered.

"You've got yourself a bet, Kenny! And you won't be able to Jew your way out of it this time!" Kyle glared at him, but then went back to ignoring Cartman.

I wasn't worried that Eric would win. I had a date, and he couldn't touch her, so I was safe. Whereas he had about as much chance of getting a girl as an elephant did of falling in love with a pig. Although stranger things _had_ happened.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day flew by. Before I knew it, I was in the last class of the day: Home Ec. You may think of me as a wuss for being here, but you've never been decapitated by a buzzsaw in Shop Class, I'll bet. I had always looked forward to Home Ec., mostly because there were always a lot of girls in the class.<p>

Now, where should I sit today? Definitely not near Red or Heidi. Stan might take it the wrong way if I sat next to Wendy, but it's not like he would know.

Wait, I thought, I have a girl now. I shouldn't be thinking about flirting. Then I told myself to stop being paranoid; just because I sat next to a girl didn't mean I was trying to get into her pants. Just act normal.

But before I had a chance to sit down anywhere, I heard an angry voice over the loudspeaker: "Kenny McCormick to principal's office immediately, m'kay!"

The principal's office? But I hadn't done anything!

* * *

><p>A few minutes later, I was sitting in front of John Mackey, the high school principal. Mr. Mackey used to be our elementary school counselor, before he got promoted to this new position. I really don't know <em>how<em> he got a promotion; he was almost as inept a counselor as Mr. Garrison was a teacher.

But not quite.

Honestly, though, what scared me more about all this was that Officer Barbrady was here, too.

"Do you know why you're here, Mr. McCormick?" Mr. Mackey asked.

I shook my head.

"We received information from a concerned student that you have brought a weapon to school, m'kay. Is this true?"

Oh, shit! The gun! It was in my pocket, just like always. How could I have been so stupid! Mr. Mackey must have seen the look on my face, because he went on. "Now, I shouldn't have to tell you, Mr. McCormick, that, well, guns are bad. They hurt people, and you shouldn't bring a gun to school, because then you're bad, m'kay?"

That was why Barbrady was there. I was about to get kicked out for this. "Please, Mr. Mackey, give me chance. You know I wouldn't hurt anyone."

"I'm sorry, Kenny," Mr. Mackey said.

Okay, I thought, what would Eric do? Eric could talk his way out of this. "Well, Mr. Mackey, I live in a dangerous part of town. I need to protect myself, or else I would get mugged. You know, by all those hobos and drug users?"

Mackey thought about it. "Well, I don't know, Kenny, this is serious. Expulsion is the standard punishment for bringing a weapon to school. What should we do, officer"

Barbrady looked shocked. "Hey! Don't drag me into this mess!"

The word "expulsion," coupled with my mind being on Eric's scheming, turned on a light bulb. It was Cartman. He had been the one to tell Mr. Mackey that I had a gun. He was trying to get me expelled from school, which meant I couldn't go to the dance, which meant I couldn't have a date, which meant he would win the bet. It smelled of Cartman's foul stench. He didn't know I was going with Lizzy, so instead of taking her out of the picture (which was his usual MO), he was taking me out. He would do anything to win.

I started fuming. This was a low, even for Cartman. He was going to ruin any chance I had of getting an education just so he could win a bet? When I caught up with him, I was gonna tear him limb from li-

…wait…how had Cartman found out about my gun? I never used it for anything except suicides, so how did he know I even owned one? And even if he knew that, how could he possibly know I took it to school? He's never seen me use it, has he? Has he…oh my God…

It all clicked. He had to have seen me kill myself before. There was no doubt about it.

Cartman knew.


	10. The Truth about Eric Cartman

**Okay, it looks like some of you were surprised to find out that Cartman knows, and some of you, not so much. More will be revealed here. Also, as you can probably guess, Kenny is slowly learning more and more about his powers: the information in this chapter is going to be important! It may not seem like it at first, but it is.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

"You fat bastard! You fucking racist self-centered son of a bitch!"

It had actually been pretty easy to talk my way out of expulsion from Mr. Mackey and Officer Barbrady. In fact, I had gotten off with practically no punishment, although I would have to be careful, because it wouldn't be so easy the second time I got caught.

But right now, I was busy catching something myself. The fatass.

Eric had just stepped onto the sidewalk when he heard me. Now he was no longer on school property. I ran up to him, and shoved him up against the lamp post.

"Oh, hey, Kenny…" he managed to get out. "What are you doing here?"

"Surprised to see me, eh? I'm here to tell you that your little plan didn't work. You of all people should know what a pushover Mackey is."

"What the hell is this?" Stan asked, passing by. Kyle was with him, but didn't say anything. Probably because I was beating Eric up, and that was fine with him. However, a crowd was starting to gather, and I didn't want that.

"Oh, he was just trying to screw me over, like he always does," I said. I had to get him away.

"Really?" said Craig. "Can I beat him up, too?" Ooh…that was tempting, but…

"No, I'll deal with him," I snarled. "You guys fuck off!" When nobody moved, I started dragging Eric away.

* * *

><p>We got to Stark's Pond, and I finally released him. He grabbed his throat and breathed hard. "What the hell, Kenny! It's not like I haven't done shit to you before!"<p>

I folded my arms. "I can almost forgive that stunt; you may not be able to help that you're a psychopath."

"Then what's up your ass?"

"What's up my ass is the fact that you know I can't die! You've known about my curse, and you've let me spend my whole childhood thinking no one knew! What kind of monster fucks over his best friend like that?"

"You're not my best friend! I've always hated you, Kenny."

"Well," I spat, "At least we agree on something."

A moment passed, then Eric remembered that he was supposed to be surprised about the curse. "Wh-what do you mean, you can't die, Kenny?"

"Don't try to deny it. You know about my gun, and I've only ever used the gun to commit suicide when I'm in a lot of pain. You know that I die all the time. None of the other guys remember, but you do, and you never told me. _WHY?_"

Eric shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Damn it, Eric, if you lie to me…"

"You'll do what, bitch?" Eric dared. He thought he was so tough.

I pulled the gun out of my pocket (Mackey and Barbrady hadn't even taken it away from me). "I'll kill you, that's what." On sudden inspiration, I added, "And then I'll find a way to bring you back so I can kill you again."

Eric was scared, now. "You…you've lost your mind, Kenny!" he screamed.

"Maybe," I admitted, "But I'm still more sane than you are."

Eric stood, frozen. I aimed the gun at him.

"Alright! Alright! Jesus Christ, I'll talk, just don't point that at me!" he finally caved.

I lowered the weapon but still gripped it tightly. As I look back on that moment, I'm not sure whether or not I would have actually made good on my threat to shoot him. All I remember was that I was definitely mad enough to do it. "Now," I asked slowly, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Eric sighed. "Well," he said, "I was pissed off."

"About what?"

"That time you died while you were on my roller coaster, your poor-ass family sued me, and took all my goddamn money!"

Oh, Eric's theme park…I remember that one. A pole right to the face. Just like Final Destination 3.

"When the IRS told me your family was suing for your death, I told them that you died all the time. Of course, they didn't believe me, so I lost the case. Damn it, your family sucks, Kenny."

"Shut up about my family, fatass," I said. "How come you told them that?"

"It just popped into my head. But, come to think of it," he said, scratching his head, "I hadn't thought about it before that moment. I said it, and then I was like 'why did I say that?' and right then, I remembered all the times you had died. Every one of them. Especially the time you got impaled on the school flagpole. Hehe, that was a good one, Ken."

You can imagine that I wasn't laughing.

"Anyway, if your parents had just left well enough alone, maybe I might have let you know I knew. But I figured you still owed me; I had to go without chocolate pot pie for two months because my mom had to pay off that debt. Why did your parents have to sue? You would just come back again like always."

Wow, two whole months without chocolate pot pie...that made me feel _so_ sympathetic.

But what Eric had said had gotten me thinking.

"So, just to get this straight...you didn't tell me because you were mad at my parents for suing you?"

"Hell yes!"

"And you also didn't remember the curse before that?" I asked.

"No. What's the big deal, Ken?"

A huge development. If something had somehow caused Eric to _become_ aware of my curse, then there was a chance I could get Stan and Kyle and everyone else to remember, too.

I put my gun back in my pocket, and started walking away.

"Thanks," I said.

"What! That's it?" yelled Eric. "You can't just threaten me like that, and then go your merry way! GODDAMNIT! Look at me while I'm talking to you, Kenny!"

I turned on him, my anger out in full force again. "Let me make one thing clear, _Cartman_ (this startled him; even though almost everyone else called him Cartman, I was one of the few who had usually called him by his actual first name). The main reason I didn't kill you is because the list of people who remember is already too small. What you did…

(I paused, thinking of when Cartman had killed the Tenormans, when he had given Kyle AIDS, and when he had tried to commit genocide against who knows how many groups)

"…was worse than anything you have ever done. My life has been a living hell for 14 years, all because I thought I was alone, and that nobody remembered me, like I wasn't even there at all. And then I find out that you've known about it, and didn't do anything to help, not even tried to show me a little compassion when I was alive. Even Stan and Kyle showed a little bit of concern for my deaths from time to time, but not you. You've even laughed at my corpse. The others may not be able to help that they can't remember, and I can forgive that. But I don't think I can forgive you. And to think you have the guts to say I'm your best friend? Well, you're certainly not my friend."

Cartman looked at me. Usually, words just bounced off his thick skin, but what I said seemed to have sunk in. Something passed between us. Then I walked off, fists clenched, and this time, he didn't try to stop me.

I had finally made up my mind about Eric Cartman.

**Looks like that was the last straw for poor Kenny.**

**Let me know what you all think. There's a really big chapter coming up next, so get ready!**


	11. Victim of Fate

**Ok, I feel it necessary to now give you the following warning: if you cannot commit yourself to staying and finishing this story, you should stop reading NOW. There have been some shockers in the previous chapters, but THIS is the Point of No Return. If you finish this chapter, you will NOT be able to stop reading, and will be forced to stick it through to the end. **

**You have been warned :)**

The next few days passed without incident. Well, without notable incident. The four of us went to Super Phun Thyme that Thursday (Kyle also brought his little brother Ike along). We won our Homecoming football game on Friday, but that wasn't unusual: we always won, because the Denver team got drunk before every game (certainly not our problem). I was enjoying every moment I got to spend with Lizzy.

Oh, and I managed to die twice more that week. Like I said, nothing new.

Finally, the day of the dance arrived. Kyle graciously offered to let me use the shower at his house so I could properly clean up beforehand. Ordinarily, I might have indignantly refused, but I _did_ want to look my best for Lizzy, so I decided to take him up on his offer. It _was_ nice of him, I guess.

Once I got out of the shower, I put on my suit. It was old and tattered, and it was a little too short in the arms, but I liked it (I _had_ refused Kyle's offer to let me borrow his other suit). Kyle looked very sharp in his own shirt and blazer.

My hair turned out to be a problem. It was a longer than it used to be, and it was extremely messy. Since it was almost always underneath my parka hood, it had never needed to be groomed properly before, and it didn't take kindly to being combed now. After about ten minutes, I gave up, and just left it the way it was; Kyle said I might be able to get by with this more "rugged" look. He didn't have to worry about his hair, since he was just wearing his ushanka over it.

We were both ready, so Kyle's dad took us to the Cotswolds' house to pick up Rebecca and Lizzy. The Cotswolds had apparently been debating all week whether they would let Rebecca go to the dance, and followed her all the way to the car and talked for several minutes about being careful ("don't let your drink out of your sight, don't accept any alcohol, don't go down any dark alleys") before Rebecca finally shooed them away. Kyle and I rolled our eyes; Rebecca's parents were just as paranoid as ever.

I honestly couldn't remember what Rebecca was wearing, because my eyes were drawn to Lizzy the minute she followed Rebecca outside. She was wearing a beautiful orange dress (in my honor, maybe), with no sleeves, shoulder straps, and enough cleavage showing to be sexy, but not enough to be slutty. Perfection. We made some brief reintroductions, as Rebecca didn't remember me, and Lizzy and Kyle barely remembered each other. Kyle assured me that he had known all along I wasn't bluffing about having a date.

Kyle's dad drove us all to Whistlin' Willie's, which was where we had decided to eat before the dance (I had jokingly suggested Raisons). It was a good thing that he had gotten rid of that hybrid he used to own, or we would have never all fit in the car. Stan and Wendy were waiting for us when we got there; Cartman hadn't shown up, yet. Stan and Kyle talked for a while about whether Cartman would have a date or not, and thus whether he would owe me money.

Frankly, I didn't care anymore. Cartman was dead to me.

We had all started eating by the time he finally showed up, with that Goth chick, Henrietta Biggle, in tow. I wondered how he had ever managed to get her, considering how he was just stuffing his face and completely ignoring her. I finally decided that it was because Goths just loved being miserable: she certainly was going to be miserable as Cartman's date.

"By the way, guys," he said in between mouthfuls, "my mom decided to rent a limo, so we can all go to the dance in one vehicle." I was sure that it had actually been his idea. It was thoughtful, but I didn't say that.

"Thanks, Cartman," Stan said. "Did your mom have to work extra hours on the corner to pay for it?" He and Kyle started laughing at the joke. They expected me to laugh along with them, and ordinarily I would have also chipped in my own comment. But I didn't. I was determined to ignore Cartman as completely as possible.

Cartman didn't seem as pissed about the remark as he usually was. He also had been waiting for me to laugh along with Stan and Kyle, just like we had always done, after which we would have yelled at us, just like old times. I guess I really had gotten through to him; I wouldn't be able to forgive what he had done so easily. Things weren't going to just go back to the way they were.

The rest of the dinner passed in an awkward silence. Stan and Kyle seemed to have picked up on the fact that I was ignoring Cartman, and that Cartman seemed almost depressed (which might also explain why he had chosen Henrietta as his date). After we finished, we all got in Cartman's limo and rode to the dance.

When we got there, Kyle pulled me aside, motioning for Lizzy and Rebecca to wait for us inside. "Is something going on between you and Cartman?"

"It's…complicated," I finally answered.

Kyle nodded. "I don't know what you were yelling at him about the other day," he said, "but he must have done something _really_ bad for you to be so pissed at him."

"I didn't say I was pissed at him."

Kyle laughed. "Dude, you didn't have to. You ignored him so completely that it looked like it was actually hurting his feelings. I mean, I didn't even think that bastard _had_ any feelings. But anyway, about what he did…is it anything I can help you with?"

I thought about it long and hard. Kyle seemed genuinely concerned about me; he was a much better friend than I had given him credit for. It might someday be possible for Stan and Kyle to remember me. Until that happened, there really wasn't much point in going into all the details.

"I'm okay for now. Maybe, I'll be able to tell you about it sometime." And while Kyle mulled over that cryptic answer, I sauntered into the dance hall, determined to have a great time.

* * *

><p>It started off with a quick dance; a very upbeat and hip song. My kind of dance.<p>

Offhand, it wasn't a song I recognized, but that didn't mean anything. Being the poor kid, I wasn't always up to date with what was new. I always made up for it by making up my own dance moves, even if everyone else was doing something different. Even the Goths might approve of that.

Right now, I was pulling some fancy moves with Lizzy (although I _was_ restraining myself more than I usually did; I'm usually quite the party animal). She thought I was funny, and I hadn't felt so alive; I was literally sweeping her off her feet, and leaving her breathless.

The song ended, and we stopped for a moment. I was really tired; dancing the way I do really takes a lot out of you, and both Lizzy and I were panting after that last number. As I caught my breath, my eyes wandered…

…and landed on the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Having school dances in the gym always had disadvantages. For one thing, it was really hard to get the place clean, and usually everything still smelled a little after you were done. The decoration committee, however, always spared no expense to polish every surface, and decorate as much as possible. They had even fashioned a chandelier; obviously it wasn't made out of real crystal, but it was close enough to where you couldn't tell unless you were looking really hard.

What I _did_ notice, however, was that the chandelier hadn't been put up well. There were supposed to be four screws holding it up. But I could see only three…and two of them looked a little loose. That chandelier could fall at any moment, and with my luck, _I_ would be the one beneath it when it did.

Fucking curse. I really, really did not want to die now. This party was just getting started.

"Let's go over here," I said, leading Lizzy away from the center of the room, and more importantly, away from the chandelier. Might as well delay the inevitable as long as possible.

As we walked off the dance floor, I noticed that Lizzy started giving me a strange look. I was about to ask what was on her mind, when I saw the strange looks we were getting from the other girls as well. Particularly Red and Heidi and the other girls I had dated before. Oh, shit…

"Kenny, why are they staring at us?" Lizzy asked.

"Maybe we're just a cute couple," I said, hoping she would change the subject.

"But they look…angry…" she persisted.

"Well," I started carefully, "it may be because of my reputation at this school."

"Huh? Meaning what?"

"Meaning I've dated most of the girls in this school," I said, blushing a little.

"So…you're a ladies' man?" she asked.

"Uh…not exactly…" Man, why did I have to explain this to her? And why was I suddenly so embarrassed about my reputation; these stares had never bothered me before. "I'm…well, honestly, I'm the guy who's been _with_ most of the girls in this school."

That seemed to get through to her, because she gasped a little. She looked at me and said, "So what they say about you is true?"

Gulp. "What have you heard?" I asked.

"Well, some of the girls told me that you were a…" She tried to think of a reasonable euphemism, but couldn't come up with one. "…a whore," she finally choked out.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, that's pretty much the truth."

"And everything else they say about you?"

I really had no idea what crazy stuff she had heard about me, or if Red had talked to her at all. "I would wager about half of what you've heard is true, and the rest is probably exaggerated."

She sniffed back a tear. "That's still a lot, Kenny…"

Dammit, not now. "Lizzy," I said, reaching for her, but she backed away, startled, "I have done some things that you may not like. Most of them are things I'm not that proud of, either. I know that I can learn to change if I try; I've never had a reason to try before. But now I have you.

She looked at me.

"Can't we…just look past each other's faults?" I pleaded. "Even if you decide that I'm not the guy for you (please don't let her really do that, I thought), can't we just let this night be special?"

She looked at me some more, and slowly nodded. "I hope so, Kenny." Then she turned, and walked off towards the bathrooms.

Shit, I thought. I noticed Henrietta standing off to the side as well, and I walked over to her. "Is there any whiskey?"

She gave me a funny look, "Why would I have any alcohol, McCormick?"

"Because Cartman's mom always lets him bring booze to these kinds of things, and knowing Cartman, he would have made you carry it."

She gave a small smile. "You're pretty smart," she admitted. Then she reached into a brown grocery bag at her feet, and pulled out some whiskey disguised inside a two-liter of soda.

"I may need some of that," I said. After I had downed a shot, I asked her, "How come you're letting Cartman push you around? It's too…(I searched for the right word to describe it)…"conformist" a thing to do."

She shrugged. "He actually brought me to talk to you."

Huh? Where did that come from? "To me? About what?"

"Death."

"Why would I want to talk about death?"

"That's obvious."

Oh…so he had told _her_ about my curse when he wouldn't even tell me _he_ knew. Hmph.

"How nice of him," I said, sarcastically.

She looked at me. "He thinks that you're taking it all too seriously. He thinks you're lucky; most people only get one shot at life, and he say you're…ungrateful."

"Uh huh," I said. "And what do you think?"

"He may be right," Henrietta shrugged, "I think you're more lucky than you realize."

I crossed my arms, not impressed. "Most people also don't die every other day. I don't think he would think that's very lucky."

"I might."

"Really? Be careful what you wish for."

"When your life is as miserable as mine is, sometimes you wonder if it would be worth it to end it all. You can just check into hell for the day if life gets too shitty for you, just to take a break. I would love to do that sometimes." She pulled out a cigarette.

I cocked an eyebrow. "It's definitely not that convenient. And hell really does suck, so I don't know if you would like it."

"Can't be any worse than here."

"You mean South Park?"

She nodded. "It's like fate has a cruel focus on this town. Death's demand on us is higher than it is anywhere else. If you weren't here as a shield, there probably wouldn't be anybody left."

So she saw me as a shield? Thanks a lot, bitch.

Then it hit me. How many times had I seen people die in this town? More than I heard about dying anywhere else. Even without taking me into account, usually we would hear about someone dying every week. I was sure it wasn't like that everywhere, but was it only that bad here, in South Park? Was this town such a target?

And my friends? We had all gotten into stupid, dangerous shit all the time when we were younger. We had fought aliens, mutant turkeys, and a mechanized Barbra Streisand. We even burned down the school once. Yet whenever the situation became life-threatening, it was always me that ended up taking the fall. Sometimes it was my choice, and sometimes it just happened that way. As much as it might suck for me, it would be worse for Stan, Kyle, or even Cartman. They wouldn't be able to come back, but I was always there to save them…

_Was that really it? The town with the highest death rate also had the kid who never died, to alleviate the death toll? Was that really coincidence?_

And as that thought crossed my mind, the chandelier finally fell with a crash.

I rushed towards the center of the room, ignoring the screams and yells I was hearing. I cursed myself for not being there to take the fall, because it couldn't really harm me. Please, let no one be hurt, I begged. Don't let someone else pay the price for my selfishness. The closer I got to the scene, the more worried I became.

Because I had just noticed that the girl who was screaming was Rebecca Cotswolds.

Because I had just seen that the boy who was yelling was Stan Marsh.

And when I finally pushed through the crowd, I saw that the broken body, lying underneath the wreckage of the chandelier…belonged to Kyle Broflovski.

I simply stood in shock. As did the numerous people standing around me. Even Cartman.

Stan knelt over Kyle's body and screamed at the heavens, "Why! How could you do this? You killed Kyle!"

I thought of Death. "You fucking bastard," I uttered, as Kyle had done so many times for me. As he would be doing right now if I had been lying there in his place. As I should be.

**I told you.**

**Please review!**


	12. An Explanation

**Well, I guess I've kept you all waiting long enough...**

* * *

><p>I sat on the curb outside the mortician's office. Needless to say, the dance had abruptly ended after everything that had happened. Cartman, Henrietta, and Lizzy had all gone home. Stan, Rebecca, and Wendy were inside, crying over Kyle's body, along with the rest of Kyle's family. I…couldn't face them. Even though they didn't know it was my fault Kyle was dead, I still just couldn't do it.<p>

Finally, Stan and the others walked out, to give the Broflovskis some privacy. I peeked up at them, wondering if there was any chance Kyle had lived, but Stan shook his head. Mrs. Testaburger had come to pick them up, but Stan sat down next to me, and told the others to go on without him. He looked like he was taking Kyle's death especially hard. There was a time where I would have been angry that he had never given me the same concern when I died, but right now, I was just as upset about Kyle's death as he was, if not more so.

Finally, we decided that it was time to go home. We walked along the street in silence. After a few minutes, I noticed that he was avoiding my eye. It kind of made sense, since I guess I was probably avoiding his. We both wanted to reassure the other, but neither of us had anything good to say.

Eventually, however, it became clear that there was something on his mind. Then he spoke: "Kenny…is it really true, what you keep telling us? That you can't die?"

I stopped walking and looked at him. Cartman remembered…and now Stan, too?

"I thought you never remembered. I told you many times, and you thought I was crazy," I said.

He looked down at the ground, as if ashamed. "Well, I don't remember you dying, exactly…but I'm thinking back to all those times when you told us you were cursed. You always said we didn't remember: well, I just got to thinking that, maybe you really were telling the truth, and we just never remembered."

So, he remembered me talking about the curse, but not the curse itself?

"How come you didn't say anything until now?" I asked.

"Well, I guess…with Kyle and all…the whole idea of dying was just on my mind." Then he paused, and frowned. "It was like it…just popped into my head, or something."

"It just popped into your head?" That was exactly what Cartman had said. One minute they didn't remember, and the next, they did. They had both somehow _become_ aware of the curse, except Stan only seemed to have a limited awareness of it. _What was the connection?_

Stan must have seen me thinking hard, because he asked me what was on my mind. I told him, "Well, usually, you didn't even remember me telling you about it. Those memories were erased along with the ones of me dying.

"Hunh…" Stan mumbled. "So, what you're saying is that I didn't even remember _that_ until just now?"

"I don't think so."

Stan thought about that, before wondering aloud, "But why should I remember that now?"

I told him I wasn't sure. I also told him everything Cartman had told me, and also about how Lizzy and Jesus remembered. We sat on the sidewalk and thought some more.

Finally, I shook my head. Suddenly I was feeling guilty for thinking of myself at a time like this. "Maybe this isn't the time to worry about this. I mean, it's been a long night, Kyle's dead, and-"

Stan's eyes lit up. "That's it, Kenny!"

"What?"

"Kyle just died!" Saying it out loud immediately pained him, but he continued. "Maybe that was what jogged my memory."

I thought about it. There was no _way_ it could be that simple. And yet…

"But, you've seen people die before haven't you? Haven't your grandparents and your aunt passed away? For that matter, Kyle had dead relatives, too."

"Well, they were all old," Stan reasoned. "they were probably going to kick the bucket soon anyway. But Kyle was our age. His death was so sudden, and it happened right in front of us…maybe it was traumatizing enough to _make_ me remember you. And it makes sense that Lizzy and Jesus remember, since they've been resurrected too."

It was starting to make sense. "But that still doesn't explain Cartman," I said. "If Kyle's death was only traumatizing enough to make you _partially_ remember, then how the hell does Cartman completely remember? Could _anything_ traumatize him?"

"Cartman's a psychopath," Stan shrugged. "Maybe he didn't need anything to traumatize him."

Henrietta seemed to remember, I thought. She had specifically mentioned Death. I guess the Goths were, like, connected to death, or something, and that was why they remembered. Death was the key. What was Cartman's connection to death?

A psychopath…

"Stan," I gasped, "Cartman's killed someone. He arranged for the Tenormans to get shot back when we were all in fourth grade. He killed someone, so he has a _personal_ connection with death, just like Lizzy and Jesus do, and just like you now do." And now that I thought about it, me dying at Cartman's theme park had happened only two weeks after the Scott Tenorman incident. It all made sense.

Now it was Stan's turn to play devil's advocate. "Now wait, Kenny. What about the people who fought in war and stuff? Ned and Uncle Jimbo fought in Vietnam. Shouldn't he remember your curse, then?"

"Maybe not," I said. "There's probably a big difference between killing someone in war because you have to, and having two people get shot just because their son pissed you off. Cartman committed…well, murder. That's a lot more personal than war. That's why he remembers."

I felt ecstatic. This was the answer that I had been trying to reach all my life. This was why only certain people could remember my deaths. Cthulhu did this to me, but there were limits to his power. The people who really understand death, they could see through his illusion. Then my heart sank. It was a real tragedy that it had taken Kyle's death to figure this out. I would have gladly traded it all back, as long as my friends got to live.

Stan's expression said the same thing. But then a look of determination crossed his face. "There…has to be a reason we figured this out! There has to be something we can do about this!" This didn't sound like the Stan I knew. This sounded like…the Stan I used to know: back before we grew up, when we were innocent, and we could look at the world through children's eyes.

"Like what?" I asked

"Well," he went on, wracking his brains, "Maybe…there's some way we can bring Kyle back."

Bring Kyle back?

Stan went on. "Maybe we could figure out how Kyle could get powers like you. Then he could come back to life."

"I don't know, dude," I said. "I was born with my powers. I don't know if anyone can get them after they're born. Besides, I wouldn't wish this curse on anyone; it's no picnic."

"We have to try!" Stan pleaded. "If there's even a chance, we have to try!" I agreed, but what could we do? Just go and ask Cthulhu? He lived in another dimension, and the only way we could get there was-

"There is…one thing we can try," I realized. Stan was all ears.

* * *

><p><strong>A way to bring Kyle back...? Hmm...<strong>

**By the way, does the explanation make sense to everyone? If it isn't clear, or you have a specific question about how the whole "relationship with death" thing works, make sure to send me a PM or something, and I can try to explain it.**


	13. The Summoning

**I just moved back into my dorm! Anyway, with college starting up, I may not be able to update as quickly as I have been doing, but I'll try to keep up. Anyway, enjoy Chapter 13...**

* * *

><p>"You still sure about this?" I asked. Stan nodded.<p>

Terrific…I was starting to have doubts about this plan. I didn't even know why I had mentioned it to Stan at all. It wasn't that it wouldn't work, because it would; it would just bring back too many painful memories.

"What are you waiting for?" Stan asked.

"Well…I was just thinking that maybe we could find some other way to reach Cthulhu."

"Like how?" Stan said. "This was your idea! And there isn't another way to get to Cthulhu; we need _him_!"

"Okay, fine," I said. We were already standing in front of the mirror, and all we had to do was say the word three times. Or rather, I had to say it, since I was the one on the mission. Before _he_ left, he had told us how to summon him, in case he was needed. I had made up my mind then and there never to do it, but it seemed I hadn't been given a choice.

Oh well, here it goes…

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, and clearly uttered, "Shablagoo." After about a second, I repeated it: "Shablagoo." And again: "SHABLAGOO."

The final word seemed to echo for a moment across time and space. Before it had stopped ringing, a portal opened right there in the bathroom, spewing cereal and crispy leaves everywhere. Then someone stepped out of the portal, which closed behind him. He was half man, and half berry, and he wore a green outfit that looked like it was made of leaves. But most infuriating of all was his cheerful, carefree smile.

It was our old friend and Henrietta's adopted brother, Bradley Biggle, whose real name we later found out was Gokzarah. But now everybody knew him as the "Amazing" Mint-Berry Crunch.

* * *

><p><em>"You banished me, but I'm back! What does that make me?" I asked Cthulhu.<em>

_Cthulhu paused his rampage and looked at me: Kenny, or rather Mysterion. Just one of several upstarts he had banished to R'lyeh. But I had managed to escape, and, rather than go and hide, I had returned to confront him._

_"An immortal…" he said. But he did not speak aloud; the words had been sent directly to my mind, for he was speaking to me, and me alone._

_"Bring back my friends," I cried. "Take me!"_

_This was what I would do. My friends would never remember my final death, and they would never recognize me for the sacrifice I was about to make for them. But, maybe, if Cthulhu succeeded in destroying me once and for all, the long nightmare would be over, and I would have finally put this curse to some constructive purpose._

_Several voices rose against me. Bradley, standing on the sidelines like a wimp, screamed, "Mysterion, no! What are you doing?" while Cartman yelled at Cthulhu to ignore me. "Only an immortal can kill another immortal," I told Bradley. I closed my eyes, wondering if this final death would be painful or not, but it didn't come. I looked back at Cthulhu; he was still just standing there. "Here's you prize! Take this curse from me, you big pussy!" I yelled. _"Go on! Kill me before I kill you, but bring my friends back, wuss!"__

_Cartman spoke again. God, his raccoon costume looked dumber every time I saw it. "Cthulhu, you are a Coon Friend, and you _will_ listen to me!" (_Looking back on this moment, the fact that he really _did_ know about my curse back then made me even angrier; not only had he offered none of the help a friend should give, but he had prevented me from ending my existence with dignity_) _

_Cthulhu picked up his partner, and began walking away. "No, come back!" I cried desperately, "I HAVE TO KNOW WHAT I AM!" _

_Cthulhu sneered, and said, "Have no fear. You _will_ die, my foe. But not today." Cartman may have heard him, too, because he laughed cruelly. I hurled every insult I could think at them both, hoping the Dark One would strike me down, but to no avail. _

_Then a portal opened in front of me. An alien man appeared in it, and began to speak. He spoke to me as his son, and told me that these were dark times, and that I would begin to understand my powers, that I may use them for good. I began to glimpse a heroic future. No more drunken family. No more irritating friends. No more pointless deaths. My curse would become a blessing, and I would go on to use my powers for good. But then, in an instant, my hopes were struck down. _

_Because it was all a joke._

_The alien had actually been talking over my shoulder, to someone standing behind me. Bradley Biggle._

_Fucking Mint-Berry fucking Crunch had superpowers after all._

_Bradley then flew up (he could even _fly_), and began fighting Cthulhu._

_I didn't watch. I didn't watch as Mint-Berry Crunch defeated Cthulhu, and banished him back to R'lyeh. I didn't watch as he brought back Stan, Kyle, and the others, and then sealed the dimensional passageway. I didn't watch as Bradley, Bradley who had let Cartman walk all over him, who had the lamest superpower of all, and who had peed his pants at the sight of Cthulhu, took all the credit for what I was ready to give my life to do, and ultimately left me with nothing._

_I didn't watch because I was looking up at the sky. In the swirling storm above the devastation, one of the clouds seemed to form the shape of a middle finger, pointing straight up._

_The universe had spoken: "Fuck you, Kenny McCormick."_

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><p>Bradley didn't look like he had aged at all in the past five years. He still looked 9 years old, and his ridiculous costume hadn't changed, either. Perhaps that was what made me recall those painful memories even more clearly.<p>

"Hello, my friends!" he said. "How can I be of service?" Then he looked at us, and saw that we had gotten older. Maybe he wasn't aware of his own apparent immortality.

Hmm…if he was immortal, then would he remember me? No, no time for that.

"Well, first off," Stan said, "we want to say hi. It's been a while since we last saw you, Mint-Berry Crunch." Just _had_ to be the gentleman, didn't you, Stan?

I gritted my teeth. "Hi." Rationally, I really shouldn't have been mad at Bradley himself; after all, he had just been trying to save his friends, just like I was doing. He hadn't done anything wrong. It was just the overwhelming unfairness of it all had broken me. After the incident, I had been really mad at God, and the universe, and everything else in the heavens for screwing me over like that. I didn't go to church for about a month, and I spewed enough venom against God to make even that crude Frenchy, Christophe, proud. But eventually my anger with the Almighty had subsided, and Bradley, being a bit more tangible person, had become the object of my hate.

But, like I said, it was an irrational hate. And that was about the only reason I was able to speak to him as a civilized human being. "Bradley, we need you to take us somewhere," I said.

"Mint-Berry Crunch always helps his friends," Bradley chirped. "Just name your destination, and I'll bring us there in a flash."

"The Lost City of R'lyeh," Stan and I said simultaneously.

The insufferable smile on Bradley's face faltered. "R'lyeh?" he asked, making sure he had heard us correctly.

"Yes," I said. "We're going to have a little chat with Cthulhu."

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><p><strong>Okay, a couple of<em> really<em> big chapters coming up. Read and review, please!**


	14. A Chat with Cthulhu

**Here's the next "the moment you've all been waiting for" chapter. This story is starting to catch up with me, but I will press on!**

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><p>"And so they set off to seek out the evil Cthulhu, hoping that he would have the answers they so desperately wanted. In a flash, Mint-Berry Crunch encased his friends in a protective berry bubble, and dove beneath the waves—"<p>

"Bradley," I said, groaning, "You don't have to narrate."

"Oh, sorry, Kenny," Bradley said. Stan snickered a little, but he was just as annoyed with Bradley's monologue as I was.

We were underwater, near the hole that DP had drilled into another dimension. As he said, Bradley had encased us in a…berry bubble so we could breathe. Pink energy shot from Bradley's finger, and reopened the portal. Immediately, a swarm of terrifying creatures tried to escape into our dimension, but Mint-Berry Crunch fought them off.

"Back, you foul spawn! We are here to see Cthulhu!"

Eventually the monsters retreated, and we crossed the portal into R'lyeh. It was…well, just as I remembered: too fucked up to describe. The only difference was that a giant, tentacle creature sat sleeping in front of what we had assumed to be a palace. It was the Death Lord Cthulhu himself.

Now was the time for answers at last.

Bradley shot a stream of berries at Cthulhu's face to wake him up. "Kenny wishes to speak with you!"

Cthulhu stirred. In my mind I heard his voice, "_Who disturbs my slumber? Is that you, Bob? I told you that—_" Then he glanced down and noticed the three of us. "_You?_"

"Yes, Cthulhu," I said. Compared to his monstrous size, I felt small and insignificant, but I wasn't afraid of him. Just nervous about my request. "I…need your help."

He raised a massive eyebrow. "_And why should I help you? You interrupted my reign of darkness, and _he (referring to Bradley, of course) _sent me back to this place._"

"I beg of you…a favor, then."

"_In exchange for what?_"

What, indeed? What was it worth to bring Kyle back? "Anything," I said at last. I wanted my friend back more than anything else right now.

"_Would you give me your soul?_"

"Yes," I answered without hesitation. Stan and Bradley looked at me; obviously, they didn't think I would go that far. I didn't think it mattered; my own soul probably wasn't worth that much, and as far as I was concerned, Cthulhu already had it.

"_Then I shall hear your request_," Cthulhu sneered.

"My friend, Kyle, was killed tonight," I began. "I want you to bring him back to life."

Cthulhu looked at me with genuine confusion on his alien face. "_Was this…Kyle…an immortal, like yourself?_"

I shook my head. "No." Was he an idiot? If Kyle was immortal, I wouldn't be here.

"_I cannot help you. He belongs to Satan now. When a mortal goes to Hell, he cannot come back._"

I took a deep breath and went to Plan B. "Then can you make him an immortal, like me? So that he _can_ come back?" This truly was the last resort. I had been serious when I said I didn't want to force this curse on anybody, not even someone as bad as Cartman. I didn't make this request lightly, but it looked like we had no other choice.

Cthulhu said, "_I cannot grant immortality to anyone. That is not in my power._"

I blinked. "Wait, what you mean, 'not in your power?'"

"_Once a mortal, always a mortal_," Cthulhu said, "_I have great powers. I can fly. I can strike humans down with lightning. I can even banish my enemies to a dark oblivion. But granting immortality? I cannot do that._"

"But—but you gave me immortality, didn't you? The cult leader prayed over me, and asked you to keep me safe from harm? And then you did—you kept preventing me from dying."

Cthulhu stared at me for several seconds, before saying, "_That is the _stupidest_ thing I've ever heard in all my existence._" I tried to protest, but he went on. "_Don't you think that other families ask deities to keep their children safe? Why then do they still die? Your parents may have asked for my blessing, but they are no different from countless others who did so, to say nothing of the Christians, Hindus, and Muslims who pray for their children. Whatever it is that makes you special, it has nothing to do with me; the fact that your family briefly joined my cult is merely a coincidence. Your curse makes you so unique, that I cannot imagine anyone else like you existing in the world. Given that, it's almost impossible that your condition could be the result of any prayer to any god._"

I choked a bit. "So…you had nothing to do with my power?"

"_No._"

I looked down at the ground. Why did I feel like crying? The last thing I wanted was to be connected to this creature; I should have been happy about this. It also meant that it wasn't my parents' fault either, so any guilt that they were harboring at themselves could be washed away.

But…again…I had just come so close to the truth that I could practically taste it, only to have it snatched from me at the last minute. Instead of progressing on my road to discovery, I had just taken a huge step backwards. By this point I had forgotten all about Kyle; all my theories built up from the past five years had just been torn down.

I turned to Stan and Bradley, who looked confused by what had happened. "Come on, guys. We're leaving."

"Already?" Bradley asked.

"Wait! What about Kyle?" Stan asked.

I got up in Stan's face and yelled, "He's gone! There's nothing we can do! You'll just have to get over it!" It was a little bit harsher than I meant to be, but I didn't really care at the moment.

Then I heard Cthulhu. "_Leaving? You aren't going anywhere!_"

"You can't help us. I don't owe you anything."

"_You still promised me your soul!_" Cthulhu reached out to snatch the three of us, but Bradley summoned a mint and berry storm, blinding the evil god.

"Sorry, Cthulhu," he announced, "but I'm still stronger than you. Our business here is finished, so we'll be on our way now."

We met no further resistance on the way back to our dimension.

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><p><strong>Please read and review, especially if you haven't left one already. An author needs to know how he's doing in order to improve, especially for something like fanfiction, so don't be afraid to leave your opinion.<strong>


	15. That Sinking Feeling

**Thank you all for the reviews. Considering how I led you guys astray all that time, I really hope you like the _real_ truth about Kenny's curse...which will _not_ be revealed in this chapter.**

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><p>After bidding goodbye to Mint-Berry Crunch, Stan and I had begun walking back to our respective homes. I was just trudging along, trying not to imagine how this day could possibly get any worse.<p>

It was about midnight. It was scary to think how, only a few hours ago, Kyle was still alive, Lizzy and I were still a couple, and I had known, _known_, that Cthulhu was responsible for my curse. Now I didn't know what to think. Hopefully I would wake up in a few minutes, and find that this entire evening had been one horrible nightmare. Maybe then I could just go back to living what little life I had left, with Lizzy hopefully. Now I had to see if she would take me back at all. Her going home on her own wasn't a good sign of that, and she had been pretty upset earlier.

Now that the initial shock of what Cthulhu told me had passed, something kept sneaking to the front of my mind. "_I cannot imagine anyone else like you existing in the world._" That was what he had said, and why did Lizzy keep coming to my mind when I thought of it? Is it because she was immortal? Or rather, we had believed she was, but we had never gotten proof of it…

I died all the time. Every time I died, I was reborn, usually within a day. So far, nothing had succeeded in killing me permanently. And every time I died, there was never any evidence of it, and no one remembered except for me and a few other people. All of that combined sure was strange, and like Cthulhu said, extremely unique. I had never imagined either that anyone else like that existed in the world, but then how could we explain Lizzy? Two in the world was a stretch, but two in the same town? The more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed…

The story she had told me about the bear…it made sense that it was true, but something wasn't quite right about it: it sounded almost familiar. Hadn't _I_ once been carried off by a bear? Yes, I remembered now; it was at Kyle's Jewbilee camp, when we were 8. I had died, but…it wasn't the bear that had killed me. The bear carried me…back to its cave…to so I could play with its cub! That's right! I was at that cub's birthday party; the momma bear hadn't hurt me at all. Couldn't that be what happened to Lizzy? Had she not really died, but just been frightened when the bear invited her to play with her son?

Of course, there was still the problem of how she remembered me if she wasn't immortal. But there were ways to explain that now. There were other people who remembered me, like Cartman, but not because they were immortal. It was because there was another explanation; some kind of connection with death. As hard as it was to believe she had murdered someone, it was still more likely than the possibility of her being another immortal, especially with what Cthulhu had said.

A girl who may not be immortal, but thought she was…I started to get a sinking feeling: the same one that had come over me just before the chandelier collapsed. I also began to suspect that I had just discovered what could make this evening worse…

I turned around.

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><p>I had broken into a run by the time the Browns' house came into view. I kept telling myself that I was being paranoid, but I had to check; I had to make sure she was okay.<p>

I knocked frantically. Her father answered the door in his pajamas. "Huh? Who is it?" He didn't even recognize the boy who has taken his daughter to homecoming. But then again, I guess people can be difficult to recognize at midnight when you're half-asleep.

"It's Kenny McCormick. I just wanted to check on Lizzy."

He looked at me incredulously. "Son, do you know what time it is?" I started to answer, but he checked his arm, even though there was no watch there. "It's too-damn-late o'clock," he said, "I'm sure whatever you need to talk to her about can wait until tomorrow." He started to close the door, but I shoved my foot into the doorframe.

"Please, sir," I said, "it's urgent. She didn't look like she was in good shape when she left tonight. I don't know if she told you, but someone died at the dance."

That woke the man up. "Died! Who? Was it someone she knew?"

"Not really, but it was still traumatizing," I explained. "Really, I just have to make sure she isn't really upset, or something."

"Well, she's probably asleep now. I suppose we could look in on her, as long as we don't wake her up," Mr. Brown said.

That was all I needed. I dashed past him and raced up the stairs to Lizzy's room, her father on my heels the entire way. I got to her room, and put my hand on the knob, but then I noticed an envelope under the door. I picked it up: it was addressed to me. My hands started to shake as I opened it, and began to read:

_Dear Kenny,_

_I have thought about what you said at the dance. I'm personally not sure what to believe. You seem like a very nice guy, and I really want to trust you, but the girls really did say some horrible things about you that, if true, scare me a lot. And I don't know that I can get an objective opinion from your friends, either._

_I decided that I should find some of your other acquaintances. Surely you know some famous people during your visits, or at least trustworthy people. I think that after I talk to them, I'll know enough about who you really are to make the right decision._

_Hopefully, you won't see this, since I don't want you (or my parents, for that matter) to be worried about me. I wanted to leave this for you just in case you come to check on me before I got back._

_I love you, Kenny, and I want to believe that you can change. Hopefully, once I've done this, we can be together forever._

_Yours,_

_Lizzy_

I looked at the paper in horror. Surely, she hadn't—

"What did she say?" Mr. Brown demanded, having finally arrived.

I didn't answer. Instead, holding my breath, I pushed the door open, hoping and praying that the letter didn't mean what I thought it meant—

We stared inside Lizzy's room. Her bed was empty, but she was in there. Mr. Brown screamed bloody murder, and called for his wife to come quick. My heart dropped into my stomach. And Lizzy...she just swayed there, back and forth, dangling over the stool that lay on its side in the center of the room. There was a smile on her face, like she couldn't wait to come back and see me.

But I was sure now. The suspicions that I had had earlier had now hardened into cold certainty.

She wasn't coming back. Ever.

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><p><strong>You know, this story is turning out darker than even I had originally intended it. <strong>


	16. Friends Forever

**I just want to say that, while Kenny's tragedies are not over just yet, things will start to look better for him soon, I promise.**

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><p>And so that brings us to now. How long has it been? A day? A year? All I really know is that since Lizzy committed suicide, I haven't left my room, except eating occasionally. Well, that's not quite true. The first thing I had done after finding Lizzy was to go over to Henrietta's house and get some of her razors.<p>

I sit on my bed, my parka lying on the floor so that my arms are exposed. The razor sinks into my forearm, and the pain comes. When I saw people like Henrietta do this, I had thought at first that they were just masochistic enough to enjoy it. But now I understand; the pain is a distraction. It helps me to not think about Lizzy or Kyle. Every time remembering them becomes too hard, I cut myself again, and focus on the pain until it eventually fades. Then the cycle repeats.

By now, my arms are weak, and covered with more wounds than I can count. I make sure my parka was clean, so I can hide the scratches from my parents; no sense in making them worry. However, the blood from my cuts has dripped down onto the floor; since they weren't part of one of my deaths, they wouldn't disappear.

The door open, and Stan and Cartman walk in. The two of them look at me, and then at the razors, and then at each other, all with a sudden look of understanding on their faces. I decide there's no point in trying to hide it from them.

"So…what do you want?" I ask casually.

Stan bites his lip, like he isn't sure what to say. "Dude…we're worried about you. We haven't seen you in like, four days."

So _that's_ how long it's been. "It took you four days to care enough to look? You guys are such great friends," I spit.

Stan looks down at his shoes. "We were busy."

"Busy with what?"

"Kyle's funeral," says Cartman. Even he looks somber.

Stan explains how Kyle and Lizzy had both been buried yesterday afternoon. Just hearing their names again brings the blade down, a little bit deeper than I had intended. Stan and Cartman are both hit by the blood splatter.

"Kenny," Stan says, "You've got to stop doing this to yourself."

"Why?"

"Because…" Stan finally loses it. "Because you're destroying yourself! You can't keep going on like this! You didn't even come to attend Kyle's funeral because you were…wallowing in your own self-pity!"

I look Stan straight in the eye. "You don't know anything…"

"Then tell us!" Cartman bursts out. "We're your friends!"

"Stan, could you please take that…_thing_…away?" I ask, pointing at Cartman.

"Ok, Kenny!" Cartman explodes. "I'm sorry I never told you I knew! What do you want me to do about it? Huh? Just because I rip on you guys all the time doesn't mean I don't care about you guys! I even cared about Kyle, for Christ's sake!"

"Really?" Even Stan looks skeptical about that last claim.

"Really! I mean, he was a dirty sneaking no-good ginger Jew-rat, but we've still been through a lot together. We may not have been friends, but…we were something, right?" He looks at Stan and me. "Weren't we?"

"Bitter enemies, maybe?" I offer. "Well, that may be the closest thing you can have to a friend."

Cartman scowls.

"Anyway, you want to know what's wrong?" I ask. "I couldn't face you guys or his parents because I know the truth; Kyle's dead because of me. Because I was supposed to be under that chandelier, and I wasn't."

Stan and Cartman look puzzled. "Kenny, just because you always die doesn't mean it's your fault when someone else does," Stan says.

I wasn't listening to him. "You see, South Park is one fucked up town. All kinds of crazy and dangerous shit happens here. But that's why I've been put here; I'm just a shield to protect other people. I'm the reason all of you are still alive; if it weren't for me, you all would have been killed by Barbra Streisand, or by Cthulhu, or by Trapper Keeper. I'm here to take the fall for you guys, only this time I was too late. And then Lizzy's dead because she thought she was immortal, and that's also my fault."

My two friends look at me, trying to process what I had said. They want so hard to tell me that I was wrong, that I'm not just a shield, but they can obviously see the truth in what I said. Finally Stan spoke again. "well, even if that is true, Kenny, you're more than that. You may have this curse, but that doesn't make you who you are. You're still a person."

I laugh bitterly. That's the worst part of all. "Am I? The more I think about it, the surer I am that everything that makes me _me_ is because of this curse.

"I'm poor, right? My family can't make any money because they're always drunk. Well, they know about my curse, and they drink to take their minds off of the fact that I always die. So I'm poor because of my curse.

"You might say that I'm heroic, and I risk my life to keep you guys safe. Well, that's also because of the curse; I can't die, so it's easy for me to put myself in dangerous situations to help you guys out.

"My way with girls? I try to live _all_ aspects of life to the fullest, and that too comes from the curse. I could die horribly any day, so I try to have as much fun as possible the rest of the time. That's also why I take drugs and get high.

"I think the curse is even the reason I always wear that," I say, pointing at my parka. "When I was little, back when I learned about it, I always hid myself inside there, like I was hoping Death wouldn't be able to find me. Afterwards, it just became force of habit, but the curse is what started it." I can see the words sinking in. "EVERYTHING I AM IS BECAUSE OF THAT CURSE! IF I WASN'T CURSED, I WOULDN'T BE ME! KENNY McCORMICK WOULD BE JUST LIKE YOU GUYS! BUT NO, I'M A FREAK! I'M JUST A FUCKING FREAK WHO CAN'T DIE!"

Stan and Cartman are dumbfounded. Obviously, they've never thought about it that way before.

"Dude, that sucks," Cartman manages to get out. Trust him to come out with the obvious.

"What do you want us to do, Kenny?" Stan asks. "I'm sorry about how you feel, but there's not really much that we can do."

Of course there isn't anything they could do. "I'm sorry, guys. It's not really your fault. It's just that I'm so tired of all this bullshit. It just feels like the universe is playing this big joke on me, like it's trying to see how bad it can make my life."

"And…you're tired of dancing around?" Cartman prompts.

"Yes."

"And you're sitting here at your house, cutting yourself like one of those pussy Goths?"

I hesitate, wary. "Yeah…"

Cartman chuckles. "That's pretty lame, Ken."

"Pretty lame?" After I had literally poured my heart out, that's all he has to say?

"I mean," he goes on, "are you just gonna let the universe beat you? What happened to the Kenny who fought to make this town a better place? What happened to the Kenny who stood up to me and Cthulhu without batting an eye? You told me last week that you would bring _me_ back from the dead, just so you could kill me again! You're just gonna let yourself be beaten by this?"

My eyes narrow. "I just don't care anymore, Cartman."

"Why not keep fighting? You've never given up in five years; you kept trying and trying to find the truth. What have you got to lose?"

I sigh. "I thought that last week; that I would keep fighting the universe no matter what. What have I lost? One of my best friends, and the only girl I've ever really loved. I don't want to think about what I have left to lose."

Stan looks at me. "You know, as much as I hate to admit it, Cartman's right; you've really changed, and not in a good way. Only a few days ago, you were ready to face Cthulhu himself to help get Kyle back."

"A lot can happen in four days," I tell him.

"Enough to make you turn your back on your friends?" Stan asks. That's rich, considering how they themselves had always acted towards me.

"That's what we like about you, Kenny," Cartman continues. "Even if you felt like you were underappreciated, you were still always there for us."

"Yeah, and we just wanted to tell you that we plan to be there for you…" Stan pauses and sighs. "…no matter what you decide to do." Cartman glares at him, like Stan just gave away a bargaining chip. Good thing he did, because otherwise I would think he was trying to manipulate me. But Stan wouldn't do that.

"But, Kenny, we don't want to see you in pain like this. How can we help you bring out of it?"

I sigh. "Maybe if Kyle and Lizzy were alive, if my sloppiness could be undone, I could be happy again."

"Ok, then that's what we'll do," Stan says. "We'll bring them back, no matter what it takes."

I look at him, and I know that neither of us will be satisfied unless we try again. So, I reluctantly agree. Both of us look at Cartman.

Finally, he says, "Ah, what the hell. I don't have anything better to do. And it's boring to rip on just you guys."

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><p><strong>Ok, now I have a specific question for you readers. You'll notice that I've shifted to present tense here, so that it's like the first 15 chapters are being told by Kenny as past events, and the rest of the story is happening in real time (meaning that from here on out is where the real supernatural stuff starts to go down). <strong>

**My question; is the present tense really doing a good thing here? Present tense is a lot harder to write than past tense, but I'm trying yo keep it worthwhile. If my trying to write in present tense is negatively affecting the quality of the work, then I can just write the whole thing in past tense. **

**Please review and let me know, so I can go back and change this stuff before I get too much farther.**


	17. The Expert on Hell

I made it to school today, for the first time since Lizzy died. Stan and Cartman are sitting in their desks in front of me, and they both look glad that I'm here. We had talked well into last night about what our plan would be this time, and we had eventually come up with something that just might work. It could be tricky, though.

"Well, Kenny McCormick, done with our little vacation, are we?" Mr. Garrison jeers. What an ass. One of his students was just killed last weekend, and he didn't expect us to be just a _little_ torn up about it?

"Yes," I reply, unenthusiastically.

"So, when are you going to get your shit together and start working, rather than just showing up to school whenever you please?" he asks.

"Whenever you make up your mind about what gender you want to be," I shoot back. The whole class bursts out laughing (Cartman's practically gasping for breath), and Mr. Garrison looks pretty enraged. It probably wasn't a good idea to irritate the teacher, but I really don't have any respect for anyone who thinks a gross and bigoted overview of modern pop culture qualifies as material for history class. I think that's reasonable.

But it looks like I pushed him too far. Even after five years, I guess the whole sex change incident is still a sensitive topic for him. He rushes at me with hatred in his eyes. I'm about to be killed by Mr. Garrison? What has the world come to?

An empty desk in the front row suddenly explodes, and Mr. Garrison is thrown back, dazed. The short kid in black in the very back row shakes his head in disgust at Mr. Garrison, his finger still pointing at what's left of the desk. Mr. Garrison, apparently forgetting all about me, goes on with his "lesson."

Minutes later, when the class is over, I walk over the kid who saved me. Who, ironically, happens to be the Antichrist, Damien Thorn. Yet another supernatural guy that somehow goes unnoticed by all the oblivious people in South Park.

"Thanks for that," I mention.

"Whatever," he says. When he sees that I haven't left, he asks, "Anything else? Saving your life shouldn't be that big a deal, seeing as it's you and all."

I guess it made sense that Satan's son would know about my curse; it had just never occurred to me until now.

"Yeah, Damien," I tell him. "I need your help."

* * *

><p>On the way to the cafeteria, I explain the situation to him. I needed to somehow get to Hell myself, so I could find mount some kind of rescue mission. That, we had figured out, was the only way we could get him and Lizzy back. It doesn't really bother me that Stan and Cartman are barely involved in this plan, because there's not really a whole lot they can actually do to help, and that's not their fault.<p>

Damien cocks an eyebrow. "That sounds pretty tough," he says.

"Yeah," I reply. "So, I need you to help me get to Hell."

Damien laughs. I guess I can't blame him; usually, people are trying to avoid going to Hell, and here I am begging him to help me get there.

"Did you think I could just take you there myself," Damien says. "Dad doesn't like it when I bring visitors. Especially riffraff."

I bite back the retort I was going to utter. I had figured that approach wouldn't work. "Well, I can't just kill myself, that won't work; I'll just go to Limbo. Why can't you guys just let me in? It's not like I'm going to be staying long."

"Kenny," Damien sighs, "you just don't get it. We're tired of you just showing up to visit. We have this whole procedure for getting people into Hell (I mean, they can't just walk right in, can they?), and having to do it more than once for someone who'll just be gone the next day anyway is really annoying. Then we had to develop procedures for you to leave, since we never really had that sort of thing before. And that was a real pain; most of Dad's secretaries quit over that one, and I had to do all that work. Not to mention that there were a bunch of people that complained about how _you_ got to leave, and _they_ didn't. We offered them our hospitality, and all they can do is bitch; talk about being ungrateful."

I cross my arms. "I got to tell you, Damien, chaining people up to torture them is not exactly being hospitable."

"Of course it is. What makes you say that?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose in irritation (Stan would be proud). Why am I even arguing about this? "Well, I can get to Hell if I do something bad and then die, right? That still works, doesn't it?"

"Not as well as you might think, "

Huh?

"You see," Damien explains, "we keep upping the standard on 'how bad is bad enough' for you, and you keep surprising us. Dad and I didn't think you would help that Cartman kid kill Sarah Jessica Parker, and you did. We didn't think you would give Howard Stern a BJ, and you did. We didn't think you would pay for that hooker, Liane, and you did (I grimace. Good thing Cartman wasn't around to hear that one). You even managed to beat yourself off to death."

My face falls. I had already been looking forward to getting out my old belt and Batman costume…in the name of saving Kyle and Lizzy, of course. "You're telling me that's not going to work again?"

Damien shakes his head. "No. Although I will say, that's some pretty fucked up shit right there. I mean, I know you humans enjoy beating off, but to actually kill yourself that way?" He whistles. "And I thought my dad was perverted."

I grin. "Well, being immortal does have its perks, I guess."

Damien shrugs. "Well, that's why Dad stopped torturing you whenever you did drop by. He was starting to suspect you actually enjoyed it."

I wince. "No. Definitely not. I can see how that could be kind of kinky, but…well, your dad's a guy. He may be a fallen angel, or a demon, or whatever you call it, but he's still male. I don't roll that way."

Damien lets loose an evil smirk. "Except for Howard Stern."

"That was different. He paid me."

"Ten bucks?"

Well, I didn't say I was proud of it or anything.

Talking to Damien isn't as hard as I remembered it being. We're not really close (I mean, I do see him whenever I end up in Hell), but I guess we have a lot more in common than I would have thought. Immortality, for one. And it was a lot cooler to hang out with him than most of the other douchebags who inhabit Satan's domain, even with his elitist attitude.

But now Damien had told me that auto-erotic asphyxiation isn't going to send me to Hell this time. There goes a huge chunk of the plan; I know I'm going to have to think of something else to do, but what?

Damien grins maliciously. "So I take it you're looking for a particularly bad sin? So you can go to Hell and save your friend?"

Oh, right…_that's_ why I don't like Damien…because he's the _son of the fucking Devil!_

"Now hold on," I tell him. "I do have some limits. Murder, for one."

"I see," he says. "And Ms. Parker?"

"We didn't actually kill her. We just…put her in a bad spot." That was true, at least.

Damien nods. I guess that's a good enough answer for him. "Well, as it turns out, murder _wasn't_ what I had in mind, although I think you'll find my idea even more distasteful."

I swallow. "Let's hear it."

So he told me. And he was right; I didn't like it.

**Read and review, please**


	18. The Sin

**This was one of the chapters (or rather, scenes) that had been planned from the beginning (like Chapter 11), before I even knew how the rest of the story would play out. I really tried to do a good job for this chapter, because its one of the ones that really _has_ to be good (do you know what I am saying?). I had to keep the chapter from being too graphic (to avoid an M rating), and also keep a serious situation from ending up cheesy. That's a pretty fine line. Please let me know how I did.**

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><p>For this to work, I would need Cartman's help. Or just an accomplice of any kind, but I had ruled out Stan because I knew he would never agree to participate, despite our "no matter what it takes" vow. And I didn't really blame him.<p>

Damien had tactfully (and by tactfully, I mean evilly) suggested rape.

Damn it, why does rape have to be such a perfect idea? It's not that I _want_ to actually rape anybody, because I don't, but Damien played to my natural attraction to women so well that I could have sworn he was twisting my thoughts.

The only big issue had come on trying to decide an actual way for me to die, since just raping someone would only kill me if God Himself struck me down with lightning. Cartman suggested that I would have my way with the girl for a few minutes, and then he would "valiantly come to the girl's rescue" and kill me in a fight. Trust him to come up with a plan that gets me horribly killed _and_ makes himself look good all in one shot. We may be on speaking terms again, but he's still Cartman.

We discussed targets next. I told them I would just prefer to pick someone at random, hopefully a stranger. The less I knew about the person, the better. Then Damien the bastard had suggested Red. And Cartman smiled. That combination made me really worried.

It made so much damn sense. Damien would find some way to figure out where Red was going to be at a specific time. At that time, I would intercept Red in some dark alley somewhere. Meanwhile, Cartman would be walking with Craig by that same spot a few minutes later. Craig would see me, and then proceed to beat me up until I dropped dead (now Cartman wouldn't even have to get his hands dirty). It truly was perfect; the only problem was that Craig might see through the deception and take revenge on Cartman, too. And then I'd have three people to get out of Hell instead of two.

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><p>And so now it's the big night. I'm in the alley behind Tom's Rhinoplasty, waiting for Red to arrive. She was getting her hair done at the salon at the moment, and would walk past the alley to get to her house (thankfully, she wasn't lazy enough to drive). She also would be wearing a blue raincoat to keep out the drizzle. I really didn't know how Damien was able to find all this out in advance, and I really didn't want to know. At this point, Damien was creeping <em>me <em>out, and I'm an amateur voyeur (don't judge. I know you readers are judging me right now, so stop).

I'm wearing a black hoodie tonight instead of my usual orange parka, because I don't want to stand out. In fact, I'm hoping that Red won't recognize me, at least not at first. I really wish she didn't have to be dragged into this; she's scared enough of me as it is. I keep telling myself I'll try not to make it too traumatizing for her…and then I keep remembering that if it's not traumatizing enough, I won't get sent to Hell for it. Fuck. My hope was that the rape would be so closely tied to my upcoming death that she would forget that too.

Text from Damien: _She just left the salon_. I pull out my phone and send fatass the signal that he and Craig can leave the drug store now, which would put them about seven or eight minutes behind Red. I don't know how Cartman dragged Craig to the drug store; the fatass was a menace, but he sure was good at manipulating people.

I lean out of the alley, looking for Red; she would be here any second. Several girls walk by (some of them extremely pretty), but—there! There's the blue raincoat! Target acquired.

With a sick feeling in my stomach, I jump out of the alley and grab her from behind. She tries to scream, but I quickly put my hand over her mouth. As I pull her back into the alley, I reach my other hand up to her breasts. Yeah, I know it sounds bad, but I am trying to get to Hell, remember? And if I have to do this horrible thing, I might as well try to enjoy it, at least for the sake of the illusion.

She tries to kick me, but her aim is bad enough that I can dodge. She's still struggling fiercely, and her black hair is flying in all directions as she tried to break free. I start to undo the buttons on her shirt and—

…wait a minute…Red doesn't have black hair. I almost let go of…whoever it is that I have…in shock, but I stop myself. Quickly, I glance back out into the street, and I see another girl, about the same height, in a raincoat that looks just like this girl's. She shakes some rain off her head, and I glimpse a lock of red hair as she walks out of sight.

No way. I had grabbed the wrong girl? Who just happened to be wearing the same raincoat? Had Damien and Cartman set me up? No, they wouldn't actually do that at a time like this, but…if they had, I was _really_ going to let Cartman have it when I caught up with him.

But then who did I have here? I had to check. Still holding my hand over her mouth, I lean over her shoulder to see her face. She turns and looks me straight in the eye.

Wendy Testaburger.

Oh, fuck my life. Not only is she my friend's girlfriend, but she actually is a pretty good fighter. I had seen her beat the absolute shit out of Cartman in elementary school (not that that's hard to do, but girls aren't usually well known for their fighting skills) She's not a girl to mess with.

What can I do? Cartman and Craig will be here any minute, but I have the wrong girl, and it's too late to call the plan off now. Calm down…I should just continue with the rape, and hope that they are as quick to defend Wendy's honor as they are Red's. Cartman, at least, can improvise.

Thank God Stan wasn't in on this plan.

Wendy obviously recognizes me, and she stops struggling. She looks confused. "Kenny?" I'm ashamed to be in this position. Then she gives me _the look_. The look I see whenever people pass my house while Mom and Dad are having one of their loud arguments. The look I get when people look at my tattered parka and my dirty hair. It's a look of pity.

Damn it, I don't want pity. I'm trying to rape my buddy's girlfriend, and she giving me a _pity_ look? That's just sad. I push her front up against the wall, still with one hand on her boob. The move seems to jolt Wendy out of her pity. "Kenny, what the hell are you doing?" she yells, but not too loud.

I figure that telling her what was actually going on was against the rules, because if she sympathized and wanted to help, it wouldn't be rape. So I thought fast. "You think your boyfriend is the only one who wants you?" I hiss. "I've wanted you for a long time, Wendy, but I knew you would never want to be with me." That's a lie; it's not that I don't think Wendy is attractive, but she had always been off limits under Bro Code. Of course, the Bro Code was all but in shambles by this point.

I don't think she believes me, though. I feel like she can see right through me. "Kenny…why?" she asks, softer this time. The look of pity returns.

I shove her roughly again "Say you love me," I tell her. My hand slides up into her open shirt and clutches bare skin. "You can even pretend I'm Stan, if you want. But you _will_ say it." God, those words sound horrible, even to my own ears. I know my reputation is bad, but is this how others really see me? Like some animalistic sex maniac?

Where the hell are those two guys?

Wendy's voice starts to shake fearfully. "N-no!" Then she jabs her elbow back into my stomach. I groan in pain, and then I realize that she's actually starting to arouse me. I pull her off the wall, and, spotting a trash can, position her over it. My hand moves, on its own, towards her waist and starts to yank her jeans down. "Too bad; you had your chance, Wendy. Now I'm going to _make_ you love me." The words are just spilling out now, and the lust I hear in them is shocking.

"Go ahead and try!" she yells, "but there's no way you can make me love you. The love between Stan and me is pure. Token couldn't stop it. Ms. Ellen couldn't stop it. There's no way you can change that."

I must admit, I admire how she could pull out a speech like that while being molested. It's actually turning me on even more; I'm trying to make sure I don't lose control. "We'll see about that," I sneer.

"Besides, Stan's going to kick your ass when he finds out," she threatens.

"Stan's not going to find out," I say, praying that I'm right about that, even though I fully deserved to get my ass kicked. Well, at this point, might as well go big. Her pants are down at her ankles, and her butt stares at me through her pink underwear (I'd never really thought of her as a "pink" girl. I guess you really do learn something new every day). But that's just the uncensored version; time to get a closer look. I grab the elastic on her panties, and—

"No, I'm not saying your mom's lasagna is shitty, but it's can't be nearly as good as my own special chili recipe. You really should try it sometime."

"Yeah, I don't think so. I'm not that stupid."

Cartman and Craig's voices come drifting up the street, making idle conversation. Wendy can hear them, too, and she starts kicking the trash can viciously to get their attention. I make no effort to stop her; after all, I am trying to get caught.

"Do you hear that, Craig?" Cartman calls out, not quite as subtly as I would have liked. "It's coming from that alley there. I certainly hope it's not—" Cartman's voice trails off as the two of them turn into the alleyway and see me. Bent over a pantsless Wendy. Not quite according to plan, eh? Your move, Cartman.

"…..the FUCK?"

Craig frowns, but Cartman is completely red in the face, and now speechless with rage. Too late, I remember that Cartman has had a not-as-secret-as-he-would-like-to-think crush on Wendy since third grade. I guess that rules out the possibility of a prank.

Craig's not as mad as we were hoping he'd be (he does flip me off, though), but Cartman starts rushing at me like a madman. I just hope it's quick. He grabs me, and smashes my face into the wall with all his strength, breaking my jaw and several other bones from the sound of it. Wendy is screaming for him to stop, but he's not listening, although I can't tell whether it's for the sake of the plan, or if he's just that mad at me.

Then he lets me drop, and I see his thick shoe rushing to stomp down on my neck. Then there's blackness.

Hell, here I come.

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><p><strong>At last, the story has caught up with me. Up til now, I've managed to stay ahead and post new chapters every two to three days. Well, now I don't have any more chapters already written, so the updates will definitely be a bit slower from now on. I estimate I have between 5-7 chapters left, so please be patient :D<strong>


	19. Welcome to Hell

**This chapter is a bit more light-hearted than the last few. I hope you like it.**

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><p>What's one of the most aggravating things to have to do on Earth? Chances are, you might say, "waiting in line," and lots of people would agree with you (including Cartman). So, it should be no surprise that that's exactly how Hell starts off: standing in a long line.<p>

I appear at the back of a line that stretched for seemingly miles. Fortunately, I have my flash pass with me, so I walk to the check-in desk at the front of the line. The other guests (or rather, soon-to-be permanent residents) are a little confused, and also a tad angry. I'm used to it.

The desk attendant was new, but she was pretty. I felt kind of bad, because signing me in was going to be a pain. Why did these poor sexy girls always have to have the sucky job of being a sign-in clerk? Oh, right, it's because Satan's gay, and the men have the…other…sucky jobs….

Ok, now I have to get that image out of my head. Ogling at the girl's boobs helps.

"Welcome to Hell…name?" she asks, like she's probably already said a thousand times.

"Kenny McCormick," I answer. She scans a list on her computer, looking for my name, and I know she's not going to find it.

She frowns. "It…seems there must be some mistake. You're not listed on here, Mr. McCormick." Hmm…_Mr._ McCormick? I like it. It doesn't seem that long ago that I was just a kid, and the attendants had to actually lean over the desk to see me, breasts dangling down. Boy, they were even sexier back then.

"I'm probably listed under 'Special Cases,'" I offer helpfully.

"What makes you say that?"

"I've been here a few times before."

The girl looks shocked. "Uh…supervisor?" she calls over her shoulder.

"WHAT IS IT!" a woman screams.

"Someone here isn't on the list," the girl says, not sure what else to do.

"WELL, THAT MEANS HE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE! FIND OUT IF HE'S A MORM—oh." The supervisor, Veronica Crabtree, comes into view and sees me. She and I go way back (not like that, you sicko!); she used to be our school bus driver, before she was murdered by the Left-Handed Killer. Now, apparently, she's part of Hell's entrance staff. "You again?"

"Yep," I say. "I'm back."

At this point, Ms. Crabtree turns to the girl and reverts back to her default form of communication. "LOOK UNDER 'SPECIAL CASES'; HE'S GOT HIS OWN FOLDER IN THERE! JUST FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTIONS!"

The girl winces at each word; Ms. Crabtree is literally right in her ear. Then Ms. Crabtree walks away, back to torment the other attendants, no doubt. The girl is relieved to see her go. "I know," I say. "She's one ugly bitch." The attendant giggles.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY!" Ms. Crabtree is apparently still in earshot. The girl looks horrified, but I know how to deal with this.

"I said, 'the computer seems to have a glitch.'"

"Oh," she says. "Well, you should be able to fix it." Then she walks away.

The attendant giggles even more. "I'll have to remember that one." Then she opens the file. "Ok, it says here that you get 1000 dollars in credit for your stay here in Hell."

Okay, allow me to explain. Whenever someone goes to Hell, they are always assigned a room to stay in at one of the hotels. Usually, the more evil a person you are, the bigger a place you get. Most people are in Hell just for not being Mormon, and they get little apartments to stay in. On the other hand, Hitler, Genghis Khan, and Osama Bin Laden just skipped the whole hotel room business, and practically all have mansions right next to Satan's castle.

However, with me it's a little different. For some reason, I only get a certain amount of money to spend, and once the money is spent, they force me to leave, and I go back to South Park. So, basically, I can spend one night in one of the fancier rooms (which is what I usually do every nowadays, just for convenience), or I could use up the money slowly in the one of the more shitty rooms (truly, a new meaning to the word "hell"), and potentially stay in Hell for several months. I tried to doing that once to try and end the whole cycle, but then I realized it's just delaying the inevitable, so I didn't try again.

This time, however, I ask for the cheap room again. Because I'm on a mission, and I'll need to make sure I have all the time I can spare.

"1000 dollars?" I whistle. "That's a lot. Usually I only get about 400."

"Well, apparently (she checked her screen) you raped one of your classmates." She gives me a look, and I quickly take my eyes away from her breasts. "That was a very naughty thing to do."

Yeah, I know. I still feel really bad about that, and I'm really, really hoping that Wendy would just forget the whole thing had ever happened. I wonder if Stan and Cartman would forgive me for that; even if I made it back with Kyle, they might hate me.

To the attendant who had caught me staring at her boobs, I innocently chuckle, "I was just looking at your nametag, Melissa." Well, I had _seen_ her nametag, even though I wasn't exactly _looking_ at it.

"Oh," Melissa says. "You mean you didn't notice these?" she pouts, fondling her breasts a little.

I breathe a sigh of relief. And to think I was worried about people judging me.

Melissa smiles. "Anyway, here's your money and your room key." She winks at me. "Maybe I'll stop by later to…check on you."

My heart rate speeds up. She sure is lovely, but I should probably turn her down, since I have to prove myself to Lizzy. She's not going to be happy if I go around fucking half the sluts in Hell. Well, maybe Melissa could just come over to talk. Nothing wrong with that…

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><p>It's the next morning, I just woke up, and she's already gone. My clothes are scattered all over the floor. Damn it, how do I always get into these messes? Why can't I control myself long enough to just have a conversation? I really need to work on that.<p>

Well, time to go find Kyle and Lizzy. Hell is big, so I'm going to get started right away. I begin to get dressed, and—

—my shoes are also gone. What a bitch.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading Chapter 19. More dead characters will appear later.<strong>


	20. The Murderous Plot

Screw Hell, and its gravelly roads. I've barely been walking 10 minutes, and my bare feet are already sore and scraped. Why couldn't people be damned for all eternity in some sunny place, with plenty of soft grass?

"Hey, Kenny," a voice behind me says. It's Damien.

"Hi. You're looking well," I say, although I'm not sure why I said it. He's wearing his usual black, with an upside-down cross around his neck. I don't even think I've ever seen him wear anything else. I'm not moving in any particular direction at the moment, so I start walking with him.

"Thank you," he says. "Looks like you made it here okay."

"Well…it didn't quite go according to plan."

Damien cringed. "Yeah, Cartman was telling me about that. That sure sucks."

Yeah, you think? "Has he told anyone else?"

"I don't think so," Damien says. "He's just been fuming about it to me. But Stan has noticed that he's mad about something, and if he keeps asking Cartman about it, he'll eventually find out."

That was the last thing I wanted to happen. It was one thing for Cartman to know I had raped his crush; it would be another thing entirely for Stan to know I had raped his longtime girlfriend. Cartman may hold grudges more easily, but Stan holds them more seriously.

"Well, since Wendy won't remember, there's not a whole lot Cartman can do," I say hopefully. "Stan might believe him, but it'll be a lot easier for him to ignore it, because it will be like it never happened."

"Perhaps," Damien mutters. After a few more moments of silence, I finally ask him where we're going.

"Well, since it's the weekend," he answers, "I was just going to hang out with my friend for a while."

Before I can ask who he means, I hear someone call out," Hello, Damien. Nice of you to be so prompt and—well, if it isn't Kenny! Jolly good to see you again, isn't it?"

Another old acquaintance, Phillip Pirrup—otherwise known as Pip—comes running up. He gives us both a polite bow. Pip sure is nice to everyone, but it's quite literally a fatal flaw—he was crushed to death when he politely asked Barbra Streisand to leave South Park alone.

"Hello, Pip," says Damien. "How is she?"

"She's still in shock, I'm afraid," Pip replies. He and Damien look at me expectantly, and I suddenly realize who they're talking about.

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><p>I find her huddled inside a warehouse. She's curled up in a corner, shaking. "Can I talk to her?" I ask.<p>

"Certainly," Pip replies. "Though, do be gentle. She's feeling very scared at the moment. I can't say I blame her very much. I remember when I arrived here; I was jolly terrified at first. But once I realized that my friend Damien would be here, it made me quite happy, yes it certainly…"

As Pip goes on, I throw a sideways glance Damien's way, and he nods in agreement. Pip's nice all right, but I had forgotten how much of an annoying pain in the ass he could be.

I slowly walk up to the girl, careful not to startle her. "Lizzy…?"

She whips around towards me. Lizzy's face is haggard and dirty; she looks like she hasn't slept or moved in days, and down here it could have easily felt like years. She had been stuck down here, clinging to a faint hope that she would be able to go back to her family. But that hope seemed to be fading.

She will go back. I swear it.

"Lizzy…it's me…Kenny…" I whisper.

"Kenny?" Her voice is shaking more than she is.

"That's right," I say. I reach out a hand to her, but she doesn't take it.

"Why…why am I still here?" she sobs.

"I…" I try to think of how best to word this. "I think we made a mistake in thinking that you were immortal. I pulled that stunt on TV, and you thought you might be immortal too, and I was so eager for someone I could go crying to that I didn't consider that we could be wrong. You killed yourself, thinking that you would be back soon, and it's all my fault." I can't help myself; I start crying, too. I've really fucked up.

She looks at me, her eyes widening as the truth sinks in. "So…I'm stuck here forever…?"

"No, Lizzy," I say firmly, gripping her shoulders in resolution. "No, you won't be stuck here forever, because I'm going to help you out of here. I'll get you home, even if I have to stay here in your place."

"And just how are you going to do that?" Damien walks up behind me. "Offering yourself to Dad to take her place isn't going to work; he knows that you'll have to leave here as soon as your credit runs out, and there isn't really anything he can do about that. _Please_ tell me you had another plan in mind."

Gee, it sure would have been nice of him to mention this doubt _before_ we had gone through this whole scheme. I bite my lip, and mouth "I don't" to him. Then I turn back to Lizzy and say, "That's a promise; I WILL get you out of here."

She nods. "I believe you." The she tries to stand up, but stumbles; she's still weak. Damien quickly sends Pip to go get some HKFC for her (Hell's Kentucky Fried Chicken, one of the advantages of Colonial Sanders being dead).

"But, if I'm not immortal," Lizzy asks, "then how did I remember your curse?"

"Well," I explain, "I did find out that other certain people can remember me, but only in very specific circumstances." I pause; this is going to be a tough question. "Lizzy…have you ever killed anyone?"

She immediately begins to say the word "No," but then she stops herself and thinks about it for a moment. "Why…why does that matter?"

"Because the only people who have remembered me so far have been other immortals, people who have committed murder, and to a lesser extent, people who have had a traumatic experience."

Could she really be a murderer?

Lizzy stares at her feet. "Back in third grade, we got a new teacher. She was a very pretty woman, and all you boys became infatuated with her. You were all fighting over her, and I knew that as long as she was there, me and the other girls would have no chance of getting your attention. She said she was a lesbian, but that was just her way of hiding the fact that she was an evil, seductive BITCH, who just wanted to steal you boys away from us!"

I remember her; she was pretty hot, as I recall. Ms…Ellen, I think. Wait, hadn't Wendy mentioned Ms. Ellen?

"What did you do to her?" I ask.

"Well, me and some of the other girls concocted a plan to have her framed for some crime, taken away by Arabs, and shot into the center of the sun."

"Wait, what?" I never found out why Ms. Ellen left and Mr. Garrison came back (why, God, why). Kyle had always acted like he knew, but he had refused to talk about it. "You actually did that!"

"Oh, yeah." Considering how broken up she was only moments ago, it's amazing that she's telling me all this without batting an eye; she must have REALLY hated Ms. Ellen. "Of course, once the other girls found we were serious, most of them left, until there were only two of us left to carry out the plan. But it still worked out okay."

I swallow; I have a bad feeling I know where this is going. "And, who was the other girl?"

"The class president, Wendy Testaburger."

Which meant that Wendy was also guilty of murder. Which meant that she would remember everything. Shit. So that's three people who would hate me when I got back.

Pip comes back with the HKFC, and Lizzy starts eating eagerly to recover her strength. I walk over to Damien. "So you and Pip have been keeping an eye on her?" I ask.

"Yes. I thought I would be helpful, so I asked Pip to find your girlfriend for you…"

You know, I've misjudged Damien.

"…a small pity gesture, since I'm sure that your quest won't work, despite how noble it is."

…I take that back; that son of a bitch (with Damien, it's not an insult; it's a fact) just learned well from his Dad.

"Well," I sigh, "I guess now all I have to do is find Kyle. Unless you know where he is, of course," I add sarcastically.

To my surprise, he grins. "Actually, I do."

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><p><strong>Well, there you have it; we finally know why Lizzy remembers Kenny's curse. And Wendy also remembers...that could get ugly.<strong>

**Don't forget to leave a review on your way out :D**

**Next chapter: Kyle**


	21. Kyle

**It's been longer than usual since I last updated, but I tried to make this chapter worth the wait.**

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><p>The four of us—Damien, Lizzy, Pip, and I—make our way inward, deep into the ninth circle of Hell. That was at least one thing Dante got right; Hell <em>is<em> divided into nine concentric circles, and Satan lives at the very center. It's also much colder here; it was practically an ice castle, which would have probably been funny if it weren't so serious.

That's where Damien says Kyle is. In Satan's castle.

We stop at the moat, which is incidentally made of fire. Someone calls down, "Who goes there!" It looks like an ancient Roman soldier. I guess Satan has plenty of warriors to choose from as far as guards were concerned.

"It is I!" Damien calls out. The guard obediently lowers the drawbridge and lets us in. Lizzy and I look around in awe; we've never been here before, and the place really is magnificent. Beautiful sculptures, colorful lights, and…there's the torture chamber. I quickly steer the group away, not wanting to see what was going on in there. We end up in a large room filled with cubicles, like an office.

"Here he is," Damien announces, pointing us into one of the cubicles. I walk in, followed by Lizzy. Sitting at the desk, hard at work, is Kyle, looking well and healthy for someone whom I had last seen under a chandelier. He still has his ushanka, but he's wearing a dark business suit instead of his orange jacket, and he's yelling into the phone, having not yet noticed us.

"I don't care what Wormwood told you to expect! One million seats for Michael Jackson's new concert isn't going to be enough; we specifically ordered that there had to be at least one billion,"…"Well, I have people complaining about there not being enough seats, and here you tell me that you only have a million,"…"The issue isn't what I will do, it's what the boss will do when I tell him you haven't been following directions,"…"Glad to hear it,"…"Demon discounts? We already told you that we can't offer discounts to demons, only VIPs,"… "Well, you'll have to talk to Planning for the VIP list; we don't have it,"…"Well, SCREW YOU TOO!" He hangs up angrily.

"Having troubles?" I ask nonchalantly.

"I'll say! Michael Jackson's big concert is tomorrow, and everyone down here is too stupid to—" Then he finally notices that he's talking to me. "Oh, hey Kenny! Hi…Lizzy, right?"

"Yes," Lizzy confirms.

"Fancy seeing you guys here," he grins. Then his face falls as he realizes what he's just said. "Ohh, I'm so sorry to hear that you guys are dead. Especially you, Lizzy." Then he looks me right in the eye. "And Kenny…I know. And I'm sorry."

So just the fact that he had died has given him full awareness. Now all my friends know; in some ways, this is the moment I've been waiting for my whole life, and I've sacrificed a lot of things to get this far. Not caring if it looks gay or not, I give him a hug. "Thank you," I whisper. After I let go, I can see that he looks a little confused, but Lizzy just giggles.

"So, can I help you guys with anything?" he asks.

"We were just looking for you," I tell him.

"Okay," he says. "Well, I'm done for the day, so we can go talk."

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><p>The five of us stroll across Hell's fiery landscape; Lizzy and Kyle are both walking next to me, while Damien and Pip trail a little ways behind us. Kyle is telling us about when he first got here.<p>

"So while Satan was giving the newcomers his whole "Welcome to Hell" speech, I was still in shock; hadn't I been a faithful person? Then he explained how only Mormons get to go to Heaven. At first I was frustrated at how unfair that was, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I mean, Mormons are all really nice people, so maybe God values how good a person you are rather than what you specifically believe." He sighs. "But I tried so hard to be a nice person, too."

"Well," I add, "it's easy to think of yourself as good when you know people like Cartman."

Kyle laughs. "That's true. Well, after Satan made his speech, he approached me, and said he needed me for a special position; his Financial Secretary had just quit, and he needed someone to replace him."

"How come he chose you?" I ask. Out of curiosity.

"Probably because I'm Jewish. It seems you can't even avoid stereotypes in the afterlife." Kyle tries to just shrug it off, but his fists are tightly clenched, which means that he _is_ actually mad about it and trying to hide it. He also hates it whenever Cartman is right, I guess. "The last guy was Jewish, and had been working here ever since he died in the Holocaust. I guess he got mad that we're punished here as much as the Nazis."

Well, all things considered, I can certainly see how that's unfair.

"So, how did you die this time, Kenny?" Not a hint of smugness in his voice, just natural curiosity.

"Cartman beat me to a pulp," I tell him.

His eyes go wide. "That son of a bitch!"

"No, no, I wanted him to," I quickly add. He looks confused, so I explain. "I was trying to die and get to Hell, so I could rescue you and Lizzy."

Kyle simply gapes in shock, "You mean, bring us back to life?"

"Yes."

"But that's impossible!" Kyle says. He's even got Damien and Pip listening now.

"Actually, it's not," I tell him. "There's actually an easy way to leave Hell."

"Really?" Kyle asks.

"Yep. Just walk outside the gate." No I'm not kidding; it really is that simple. There's a huge fence that surrounds the outer circle of Hell, and if you climb the fence or go through the gate, and walk far enough, eventually you can get back to Earth.

You see, in Hell, I actually have the option of doing staying until my visit is up, or just leaving on my own. If I stay the entire time, which I usually do, they take me away from Hell while I'm asleep, and then I wake up in my own bed (as I've recently found out, after being born again inside my mom). I've left on my own a few times, if I have to get back to Earth in a hurry for some reason. Once I'm back on Earth, I sort of fade back to life; I start off as a ghost, but then slowly regain form until I'm a regular person again. This can be pretty useful sometimes; for instance, it's probably a lot easier on my mom.

In theory, this can done with anybody; the only problem is that Satan usually lets me leave since I can't stay long anyway. He probably won't be so accommodating to anyone else. I explain all this to Kyle and Lizzy.

Kyle looks skeptical, to say the least. "Sounds pretty risky. What makes you think Satan will agree to it?"

"HE WON'T." A voice booms from everywhere and nowhere. Then a cloud of smoke appears in front of us, and Satan, the Prince of Darkness, emerges. "Bwahahaha! No one leaves Hell! Not nobody, not no how!"

"Except Kenny," Pip pipes up.

"Well, yes, except Kenny," Satan agrees, no doubt irritated that Pip just stole his thunder.

I know I have to plead with Satan. "Mighty Lucifer, couldn't you just make an exception this one time? Can't you let my friends go back to their lives?"

Satan shakes his head. "You know I can't do that. The minute I let one person out of Hell, everyone else would start bargaining for me to let them out, and it would all be a headache, not to mention a big mess. Besides it's not really up to me. If it were, then even you would stay here forever."

"But _why_ do I have to stay here?" I ask.

Satan shrugs. "It's part of the agreement."

More clues? "What agreement?"

"This contract." Satan holds up a piece of paper. "I made the agreement with this guy that I could only keep you, Kenny McCormick, here in Hell for a finite amount of time, instead of the usual 'for all eternity' deal. And so I had to make all these special arrangements."

I snatch the contract and look at the bottom. There's Satan's signature, all right, very loopy and flowery. The other signature is very short, but completely illegible. That person was who was responsible for everything. "Who was this guy?"

"I don't know. In fact, I can't even remember what he looked like."

"What did he promise you in return?" I ask.

"Saddam Hussien. Somehow he knew that I had a crush on the guy, and said he could make sure that I got him, in return for keeping up my end of the deal."

I blink in surprise. "So let me get this straight; you made some deal with a guy you don't know, to keep me from being able to rest in peace here, all so you could get Saddam Hussien, whom you ended up breaking up with anyway?"

"Well, yes. But even though it didn't work out, he did keep up his end of the bargain, so I have to keep mine," Satan responded.

I curse in frustration. "Can't you let Kyle and Lizzy go instead? I'll be more than willing to take their place." Kyle tries to stop me, but I silence him with a gesture. Lizzy just looks on in shock.

Satan looks at me with sorrow in his demon eyes. His expression almost convinces me ("almost," because he _is_ pretty good at lying) that he genuinely wishes he could help, and that I have to stay not because he wants me to, but because he doesn't have a choice. "I'm sorry."

And with that, he disappears.

* * *

><p>Kyle thought the least he could do was invite me to dinner after all that. He took us all to Hell's best buffet style restaurant, and the server happens to be yet another familiar face. And he looks happy to see us.<p>

"Hello there, children!" booms Jerome "Chef" McElroy. His voice sounds just as reassuring now as it did when we were in elementary school.

"Hey, Chef," Kyle and I say in unison.

"How's it going?"

"Bad."

Chef looks at us. "Why bad?"

I sigh. "Chef, I tried to come back so I could save Kyle and Lizzy. But I don't think I'll be able to do it. Satan won't let them leave."

Chef sighs. "Oh, that's too bad. It's hard living in Hell, but we all get used to it. Why, Kyle's already got a job, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, I do, Chef," Kyle replies.

"But they shouldn't be here in the first place," I insist. "If I had been where I was supposed to be, then they wouldn't have died."

"You can't go blaming yourself for that," Kyle says. "Let's face it; everyone has to die sooner or later."

"Not when you're 14," I say.

This goes back and forth for a while, until Damien finally leaves, apparently growing tired of the conversation. Finally.

"Look, let's just drop it," Kyle says. "We can't go back, so let's just leave it at that."

"Not quite," I reply. I had actually been waiting for Damien to leave. When I had told him earlier that I didn't have a real plan, well, I was lying. It wasn't that I didn't want to trust him, but since he was Satan's son, I couldn't be sure whose side he would be on. "Just because Satan made a promise to someone doesn't mean that _I_ have to.

"We're busting out of here. Tonight."

* * *

><p><strong>The story approaches it's climax. Hang in there!<strong>


	22. The Great Escape

**Sorry it took so long, you guys. Here it is..."Chapter 22: The Great Escape."**

* * *

><p>By mid-afternoon, we were ready. In addition to freeing Lizzy and Kyle, Chef, Ms. Crabtree, Pip, and Dylan (one of Henrietta's Goth friends who had killed himself a year ago) had all decided to escape with us. All we had to do was wait until nightfall.<p>

Now, it's time.

I would go up first to distract the guards. The night watchman guarding the gate is a Nazi, so I already had some idea of how I could get his attention.

"Halt! Wer ist da (_Halt! Who goes there_)?" the guard says.

"Kenny McCormick," I say. "I was just heading out." I've met this particular soldier before (his name is Hans, by the way), so he knows that I'm allowed to leave, even though no one else is. "But I was wondering if I could talk to Hitler first?"

"Hitler? Warum (_Hilter? Why_)?"

Why, indeed? "Uh…I need his autograph." That sounds legit, I guess.

"Oh. Okay." He calls out. "Entschuldigen Sie mich, Herr Führer! Jemand will ein Autogramm (_Excuse me, Mr. Fuhrer! Someone wants your autograph_)!"

What?

A sort of short man in a uniform, with a very distinct mustache, walks up. "Sie wollen mein Autogramm (_You want my autograph_)?

Shit. Hans was supposed to go off to get Hitler, and we would all escape while he was gone. But Hitler is already here. This…is a problem.

Hitler already has a pen ready, and pulls out a copy of _Mien Kampf_ to sign. "Wen soll ich daraus machen (_Who shall I make it out to_)?"

"Uh…have it say, 'To my biggest fan, Eric Cartman.'" Just the first person to come to mind.

Hitler starts to write that down. I need something else to get his attention, fast. The others are waiting for an opening, and two Nazis are still here.

"Hier gehen Sie (_Here you go_)," Hitler says, handing me the book.

"Thanks," I say, getting an idea. "Boy, I can't wait to tell my friends at the synagogue."

"Synagogue?" he repeats, frowning. Then he suddenly screams, "JUDE (_Jew_)!" Hans pulls out his gun. Frankly I don't know why they would still care about Jews after over 70 years in Hell. Old habits die hard, I guess.

"Schießen Sie ihn (_Shoot him_)!" Hitler yells. Hans starts firing, and I run off, zigzagging to make it harder for him to aim. But only if my luck improves.

"Nach ihm (_After him_)!" Hitler yells at Hans, who starts running after me trying to get a better shot. Hitler pulls out a weapon too, and follows him. Finally, they're both away from the gate. _Now, Ms. Crabtree! _

Fortunately, Ms. Crabtree sees the opening, too. With a roar, our team's getaway car rushes out of its hiding place, and crashes into the unguarded gate, off to freedom. By getaway car, I mean our old school bus; everyone's able to fit into it with no problem, and it still runs beautifully. And Ms. Crabtree can still drive it like the crazy woman she is.

Hitler glances over his shoulder as the bus moves off into the distance, just now realizing what was really going on. "Ficken!" Then, enraged, he points the gun at my chest and fires.

Awwwwwww….DAMN, that hurts. And it's harder to die down here, so the pain's not going to go away for a while. But it doesn't matter, because I can always get out later. The important thing is that my friends are safe—

—wait, what are they doing? Surely, they're not—no, Ms. Crabtree is definitely turning around to come get me. Those fools!

Hitler and Hans see the oncoming bus, and shoot at it desperately, but the bullets don't affect it. The school bus hits them, and they go flying off into the distance—probably in little pieces. But they'll be back before long.

The door of the bus opens, and I walk in, clutching the wound in my chest. Kyle and Lizzy get out of their seats, and run up to me. "Are you okay, Kenny?" Kyle asked. "Oh my god, you've been—"

"YOU IDIOTS!" I shout. "I told you to keep going no matter what!"

"Well, some friends we would be if we just left you here," Kyle throws back.

"Don't forget that I can leave whenever I want," I retort. "On the other hand, if you guys get caught—"

"But we didn't," Kyle says. "So no harm done."

"ESCAPETOR! DERK DERKA JIHAD! SHERPA MUHAMMED KUMA!"

A loud yell proves Kyle wrong. From the dialect, it sounds like it's an Al-Qaeda terrorist. I look back and, sure enough, there's Osama Bin Laden, yelling and jumping around like a maniac, while more Muslim extremists start running towards the bus. Satan's deep voice booms from everywhere, "STOP THEM! Don't let them get away!" We're gonna have Hell's entire population after us before long.

Chef turns to Ms. Crabtree. "Hurry up, let's drive!"

"SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!" Ms. Crabtree yells.

"Goddamn it, woman; we need to get the hell out of here!" Chef insists.

Ms. Crabtree turns around, enraged. "WHAT DID YOU SAY!"

I can see the Chef's about to lose it, so I interrupt. "He said, 'GODDAMN IT, WOMAN; WE NEED TO GET THE _HELL_ OUT OF _HELL_!"

"Oh," Ms. Crabtree nods. "I agree." Then she floors it, and our bus takes off.

Chef takes a seat and grumbles to himself, "Damn crazy cracker bi—" He suddenly gets cut off as the bus is hit from the left. We all look out the window, and see about ten terrorists piled up on their own bus. They've just run into us; it looks like they're trying to herd us back into Hell. But if that doesn't work, they'll resort to desperate measures pretty quickly, and that will mean the end of this escape attempt.

"We've got to fight them off!" I scream.

"Are you crazy?" Kyle yells.

Yes. "Ms. Crabtree, where's your gun?"

"THAT'S ONLY FOR THREATENING THE BUNNY!"

"We need it!" I grab the gun out her glove compartment. "Alright, who can shoot?"

No answer.

"Okay, it'll have to be you, Chef." I say, tossing him the pistol. "I've got my own gun, so the two of us will get up on top and fight them off as long as we can."

"I want to help," Pip says. Kyle and Dylan nod in agreement.

I hesitate. We only have two guns, so having three extra people on top of the bus won't be that much help. What's more, the people on top will be more likely to be killed.

"Alright. Pip and Dylan, follow me. Kyle…you stay here and take care of Lizzy." Kyle looks at me for a second, then nods his understanding.

"Let's do this," Chef yells. We climb up on top of the bus, lying on our stomachs to make ourselves more difficult targets. The wound in my chest still hurts, but I just ignore it. Chef is a pretty good shot, and I'm not too bad, considering the only person I've ever shot is myself. We've taken out about three of them when Pip yells, "Look out!"

I turn around. There's another bus full of terrorists coming at us from the other side. Shit. Then I look back and one of the terrorists from the first bus has jumped over to us…with a bomb strapped to his chest. His hand moves toward the switch…

"NO!"

Dylan leaps at him, trying to wrestle the detonator out of his hand. Seizing the opportunity, the terrorists pump him full of lead. Dylan groans in pain, but before the terrorist can detonate the bomb, Dylan pulls them both back over to the terrorist bus, and grabs the switch.

Time seems to slow down. Dylan looks at me and says, "If you get back, tell my mom that I'm sorry. She may be a conformist bitch, but going back home would have been better than staying here." Then he detonates the bomb.

The explosion blows shrapnel and body parts everywhere. Fortunately, we're just far enough away that we didn't get anything more than a couple of scrapes. Dylan, on the other hand, was obviously not so lucky.

I curse my own selfishness. The only reason he was here was that I cared more about Kyle than I had about him. So, once again, I am the reason someone is now dead. I try to clear my head; I can worry about all that later.

One of the terrorists' rifles had flown into Pip hands. We all look at the other bus, which is coming up fast. Chef and I start shooting at them, and then realize that we're out of bullets. "Use the rifle, Pip!"

Pip looks uncertain.

"You said you wanted to help. Shoot them!"

It looks like the prospect of actually shooting someone hadn't fully occurred to him. "Well, perhaps we can reason with—"

"Pip, they're already dead," Chef puts out. "So you won't really be killing them."

"I don't think I c—"

I finally lose it. "Go ahead and SHOOT them, you stupid FRENCHIE!"

Pip turns to me. His normally cheerful face is purple with rage, and he's shaking uncontrollably. "I. Am not. FRENCH!" He swings the gun around to the terrorists, and begins to shoot like a pro, even though his aim is a little off…

…or maybe it isn't. He missed all the terrorists, but he must have hit the engine or a bomb or something, because the whole bus goes up in a gigantic fireball. Damn…I'm impressed.

"Not bad, Pip," I tell him. He smiles sheepishly.

I look back into the distance; there are other terrorist buses after us, as well as Nazi trucks, but they're too far away to do any damage. We should be in the clear. Our surroundings are starting to change; we can see grass, and trees, and sunlight. We're almost there.

"YOU WON'T ESCAPE!" Satan comes swooping in, with Damien and a legion of flying demons.

"Oh, we're all fudged, now," Chef exclaims.

"He's right," Kyle says, having just climbed up to where we are. "I'm sorry, Kenny, but it's over; we're just going to have to accept our deaths."

I look at the oncoming demons. I think about Dylan, lying dead a little ways back because I couldn't save him. "No. I will never accept it. I am tired of being unable to do anything about my curse. I am tired of simply being a victim. Some way or another, I have a power. That power has always controlled me. But that's over; I won't let it run my life any more. Now _I_ am in control."

Now, keep in mind that this wasn't the first time I had ever thought this. I'm not sure what makes this particular time different. Maybe it's that Dylan's death was the last straw for me. Maybe it's that I've never been so determined to _be_ in control as I am now. Or maybe it's because fate really _is_ still in control, and this moment simply couldn't have happened any other way.

All I know is that I lift my hand, for no other reason than the fact that I did it. From the long road behind us, Dylan's body comes flying through the air, and lands on the bus. I put my hand on his shoulder, and his lifeless form begins to breathe. He sits up, and then looks around, not sure what's going on.

He's not the only one.

Satan looks surprised, but he quickly regains his composure, and orders his demons to attack. Damien, however, flies ahead of the army and blocks their way.

"What are you doing, Damien? Why are you helping these prisoners?" Satan shouts.

"They aren't prisoners," Damien sneers. "They're my friends." He summons a wave of fire that incinerates the demons and…well, kind of pisses Satan off. It's not going to really hurt him, but it has bought us a few extra seconds. He looks right at me, and says, "Live."

"Thanks, Damien," I say.

By now, we've fully formed. I can see where we are now; the town square at the very center of South Park. We're alive and we're home.

The only problem is…Satan is still behind us, with his entire demon army, ready to drag us all back to Hell, and probably about to unleash some crazy shit on the rest of the town as well.

And on the other side of us are all the townspeople, standing in awe. South Park has seen some crazy stuff, but this has got to take the cake. There's Jimbo Kern and his hunting partner, Ned Gerblansky. There's Officer Barbrady, and Sergeant Yates, and the rest of the police force. They all have their guns drawn, ready to fight off the potential demon invasion. Behind them, I can see everyone else; the mayor, the teachers, and even Father Maxi, frantically saying a quick prayer. I can make out my parents in the crowd.

But at the very front, even ahead of the policemen, are three young teenagers: Stan Marsh, Eric Cartman, and Wendy Testaburger . The three people who are probably the most happy to see me, and probably simultaneously the most angry with me for what I've done to get here.

The two sides stand for a minute. Then they rush at each other; the demons are wailing and screeching, and the townspeople are waving their guns and torches and pitchforks (wait…since when was everyone carrying torches and pitchforks? You know what, fuck it, I don't even care). They are all about to collide when:

"STOP!"

I don't recognize the voice that called out. It was coming from right behind me, apparently from someone who had just appeared there, based on everyone's reaction. As I turn around, I hear Satan exclaim, "It's you." And I know he's talking about _him_. The person who literally made the deal with the devil. The one who was truly responsible for my curse. I come to face him.

It's Death himself.

* * *

><p><strong>We now know the cause of Kenny's curse. Will Kenny learn the reason for his powers? Will he ever be able to find peace? Find out next time.<strong>

**There's one more "real" chapter, plus an epilogue. To not leave you guys hanging, I'm going to go ahead and write both of them, and then post them about two or three days apart. So...unfortunately, it's probably going to be a little while before the next update. Sorry everyone; once again, I must ask for your patience.**


	23. Destiny

**Here it is; I guess it didn't take me as long as I thought it would. Enjoy.**

* * *

><p>Everyone looks (understandably) scared at the sight of Death, except me. I look at Death with determination. Why should I be afraid? What more can he do to me? The time has come for answers.<p>

"There is no need to fight anymore," Death says. It only now occurs to me that, while I had heard him laugh before, I have never heard him speak until just now.

I get straight to the point. "Why?"

"So you could understand me. So you could become familiar with death, and all its subtleties and nuances. So you could learn more about your world."

"Really?" I ask, not quite believing it; dropping a piano on someone isn't very subtle. "You sure it wasn't that you were just trying to screw around with me?"

"You shouldn't screw around!" someone calls out.

I groan. "Thank you, Mr. Adler." Hopefully the peanut gallery could keep quiet for just a little while. To Death, I continue, "Why's it so important that I 'learn more' about death? I don't think I've really learned anything."

Death cocks his head. "Oh, really?" After a pause, he quickly asks, "Who are the only people who go to Heaven?"

"Mormons," I answer automatically. "Although there have been a few exceptions, like Saddam Hussien, and—" Wait a minute…I had forgotten that the whole Mormon thing isn't common knowledge. Everyone looks at me in shock.

"Only…only Mormons go to Heaven?" Mr. Mackey asks.

I nod. "Yeah."

Kyle backs me up. "It's true. Everyone else goes to Hell."

"Dude…" Stan breathes.

"You see?" Death says. "You know that because you've seen it. Even if someone were told something like that, many of them probably wouldn't believe it."

That's probably true. "But, still, why do I need to learn it?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Well, no.

Death finally makes his announcement. "Kenny, you were given your powers because you're going to replace me. You're going to become the new Reaper."

* * *

><p>"I've had my job as the Reaper for many thousands of years. 'It was an easy assignment,' they said. 'All you have to do is arrange for people to die.' And it was simple, certainly.<p>

"But as the millennia went on, I grew bored. It was all the same, after all. Sometimes, human ingenuity allowed me to be a little more creative with how I caused people to die, and that could make things more interesting for a while. But then it just went back to being a repetitive job.

"It's also very lonely. The only time I get to really interact with people is when someone has to die or when I have official business in Heaven or Hell. And that just gets depressing.

"Finally, I decided that I had had the job long enough; I was going to determine my successor. I picked the location at random: a quiet little redneck mountain town called South Park. After glancing around the town for a little while, I decided that, based on how your life would play out, you would be the best candidate for the job.

"Since I had never trained anyone to replace me before, I had a very difficult task ahead of me. I decided that the best way to prepare for your role as the Master of Death was for it to become natural to you. And the only way to do that was through experience: a great deal of experience. And so every time you died, death became a little more integrated into your life.

"Soon however, I realized that only dying a few times wouldn't make that big an impact. After all, how likely is it that a little child could wander into dangerous situations time and time again? So I…"steered" you into accidents, hoping to move your development along faster.

"During this time, I found myself in a bit of a dilemma. Because of my initial investigation of this town, I became more and more attached to the people of South Park. This became problematic, since I could never visit Earth unless I was on duty. And so, in order for me to see the people I had come to feel as though I really _knew_, the balance of deaths shifted; fewer and fewer people began dying outside of South Park, and more and more began dying inside. That way I could visit more often. To help avoid suspicion, I tried to steer many of these deaths towards you; sometimes, sometimes, I got worried that I went too far.

"I also took steps to ensure that no one knew you had this power. If it had been common knowledge, people from the government would have likely come and performed experiments on you. And you were suffering enough as it was. I couldn't hide it from everyone, of course; those who embraced my own talents were able to see through my deception.

"Tonight you completed the final step; during your escape, the true depth of the powers that were instilled in you from the beginning emerged. You are indeed in control; you are ready to become the Master of Life and Death."

* * *

><p>Wow…that's a lot to take in…<p>

"So when you say "the powers that were instilled" in me, do you mean that I could have ended my curse at any time?" I ask.

Death considers this. "In a way. But you couldn't have brought Dylan back to life or ended your own 'curse' without mastering the kind of control you showed tonight. But the power was always in you to do it, yes."

"What exactly was it that made you choose me?"

"It was a tough decision, but eventually I had it narrowed down to five soon-to-be born children: yourself, Kyle Broflovski, Eric Cartman, Stan Marsh, and Butters Stotch. I could see how your lives would play out, and I decided you would be the best candidate."

"Over all the others?" I ask.

"Yes," Death continues, "Eric would have used his powers for evil purposes, and that was unacceptable. Stan would have been too weak-willed to deal with the curse, and it would have destroyed him from the inside out. You, Kyle, and Butters were all good choices…until I looked at your parents. Kyle's parents and Butters parents were too severe; they wouldn't have been able to give the support or unconditional love that your parents gave you, Kenny, and that was important in keeping you going. And so you were given a burden that would have consumed your friends had it been given to them."

I sit down on the ground and look at my hands. "It just seems so unfair."

Death shakes his head. "It is what makes you _you_. That may seem unfair to you, but being special for someone is a gift not bestowed on many. Take your friends, for example; they are special in other ways. Stan is a representation of the average person, so everyone looks at him to emulate."

Stan blinks. "So, I'm special because I'm average?"

"Yes, like Everyman."

"Well, that doesn't make any goddamn sense."

Death gives him a look that says "deal with it" and continues. "Kyle is special because he is a Jew."

Kyle's face fell. "Wait, the thing that makes me important is that I'm Jewish? It's not that I'm smart, or that I get good grades, or that I am diabetic?"

"Nope. Just because you're a Jew."

Kyle's fists clenched. "That's a bitch…"

"Butters," Death goes on, "wasn't much of anything at first, but now he's kind of a wimp, and he has such low self-confidence that he always blames himself."

"Really?" Butters asks. "I guess I just have to do better. I need to get a hold of myself." Then he frowns as he realizes he's just proved Death's point. Cartman chuckles.

"And finally, Eric," Death announces. Cartman's ears perk up.

"You're well known for being manipulative…"

"Killer."

"…Psychotic.."

"Ay!"

"…Fat…"

"I'm big-boned!"

"…Selfish…"

"GODDAMN IT, I DON'T WANT TO BE SO SPECIAL!"

Death laughs again. "You see, Kenny? That's the other reason I chose you; to give you a chance to be important. If it weren't for your powers, you would have been just 'that kid in the parka,' mumbling in the background. You would have been like him (he points at Kevin Stoley) or him (then at Jason), or maybe even him (his finger lands on Dogpoo). Sure, they may become important later, but right now? They're nobodies! I knew that you deserved a better fate than that."

I nod. "So, it's all come to this?"

"Yes, Kenny. You're ready to take my place."

This is it; the inevitable fulfillment of my life. This may not have been what I most hoped for, but I decide that, after all this, it is time to embrace my destiny.

"May I say goodbye to my friends first?"

"Of course," Death says. "Take all the time you need."

I turn to the crowd. Obviously, I should start with my parents. I run to them and hug them. "I'll miss you guys," I say.

"We'll miss you, too, Kenny. We're sorry we couldn't have given you a better life," Mom says.

"You guys did the best you could, given your circumstances."

Dad shakes his head. "We're just glad that you've found your calling. There's been a reason for it all."

Next is Stan. "Goodbye, dude."

He looks at the ground. Wendy is leaning on him, so I turn to her next. "Wendy, if there were words to express how sorry I am—"

"It's fine, Kenny," she says. "Damien explained everything; I understand. As painful as it was for me, I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you." Her eyes have that pitying look in them, again.

"I still owe you an apology, nonetheless," I insist.

She smiles weakly. "I accept."

Stan finally looks at me. "Well, if she can forgive you, I guess I can, too." He extends his hand. "Goodbye, Kenny."

I see Cartman trying to avoid my eyes. "You going to miss me, fatass?"

"Nope," he says. "What's one less poor person in this world?"

"Yeah," I smile, "I hate you, too."

He stares at me for a second, then breaks down and gives me a bro hug. "Ok, I guess I will miss you, Kenny. You're the—the only real f-friend I ever had."

"I know," I say. "Maybe you'll be able to meet some more."

He actually starts sobbing; that's just a little bit scary. "Now, you be nice to Kyle," I continue.

"Never."

Good, it's still Cartman in there. Next is Lizzy. I give her a hug and a kiss, all the more passionate because I'm aware that now I'll never have the chance to have a real relationship with her.

"I'm sorry I didn't have the chance to know you longer. We could have been quite a pair." She's too choked up for words, so I caress her, and then look at the rest of the crowd. "That goes for all of you; my time here has been too short to know many of you as well as I would have liked. I'll miss all of you." I let go of Lizzy, and I'm happy to see that she's smiling beneath all her tears.

Just one more person to address personally. "Kyle…"

"NO!" Kyle marches up to where Death is standing. "You can't do this!"

"It was simply meant to be," Death insists.

"No, I get that," Kyle says. "But, you see, I've learned something today."

Ha, it's great to know Kyle can still pull a really sentimental speech out of his ass. He has that "I'm surrounded by idiots" look about him, and he seems irritated that he has to resort to these age-old tactics.

Kyle goes on. "You've asked Kenny to take your place, after having spent his whole existence dying over and over again. But that's not really fair. You say that you put the curse on him so he could understand death, but he hasn't really seen the other side. You haven't given him a chance to _live_ yet.

"Don't you see? If he takes your place now, without having had a full life, then he'll just be like you, and in a few million years, he'll just have to put some other poor shmuck through the works to replace him. But if he takes over after living a life he was satisfied with, then he may be able to avoid making the same mistakes that you've made."

"…Yeah," Stan agrees.

Wow…that actually makes a lot of sense. And I'm not saying that Kyle never makes logical arguments, but sometimes it seems that he can change literally anyone's mind no matter what he says in his "gay little speech (as Cartman often puts it)."

"You know," Death says, "he's right. I haven't given you a chance to see what life is like without a curse." He waves his hand. "You, and this town, are both released from your curse. You probably won't see me again for a long time, but when you see me next, it will be for the last time."

With that, Death disappears, along with Satan and all his demons. The town looked no different than it did after any of our typical exploits. Everyone started to disperse, but Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Lizzy stayed behind.

No more curse. I look down at my newly mortal body. I don't know when I would see Death again, but I'm already used to living every moment as though it could be my last. And I am going to make the most out of whatever life I had left.

"Come on you guys," I say to my friends. "Let's start _living_."

* * *

><p><strong>Don't miss the epilogue, coming in the next few days.<strong>


	24. Epilogue

It was a rainy day in South Park when everyone gathered for the ceremony. Everyone was drenched; some people from the rain, and some people from their tears. Or maybe it was all from tears, since it seemed like the gods themselves were crying.

Kyle Broflovski stepped up to the podium. Even though Father Maxi was technically leading the ceremony, it had fallen to Kyle to be in charge of giving the eulogy. Everyone had agreed that he was the most talented when it came to this sort of thing.

"My friends," he began. "We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of our beloved friend, Kenneth Lazarus McCormick. Those of us who are old enough have known this day was coming for fifteen years, ever since Kenny became mortal. But even so, it seems far too soon; we thought he would outlive all of us. I would like anyone who wishes to say a few words to come forward now." He stepped down.

Kyle's little brother, Ike Broflovski, came forward first.

"I've only been in office for one year, but I have to say: it's not easy being the youngest mayor in the history of South Park. But one thing that makes it easier is the fact that people aren't dying from completely random stuff, like when we were younger; frankly, I don't know how McDaniels handled it. But none of that happens anymore, thanks to Kenny." Ike wiped his eyes. "I didn't know Kenny as well as some of you did, but he was a decent man, and I definitely looked up to him."

Stan Marsh got up next.

"Kenny…was the kind of guy who was always there for you. When your other friends go off to become great lawyers like Kyle, or successful businessmen like Cartman, Kenny was the guy who settled down, built a great family, worked his ass off at a medium-paying job, but he always had time to help his friends when they were in trouble. As most of you know, the last few months have been rocky, with the scandal and everything, and I can safely say that Kenny McCormick is the reason I'm still married to my lovely wife."

Next up was Gary Harrison.

"I wish I could thank Mr. McCormick for his personal insight into the afterlife. When I was a kid, our church struggled with a tiny congregation. But ever since he told the town that only Mormons go to Heaven, our church's size has been booming; we Mormons probably make up a greater majority here than we do anywhere else, even in Salt Lake City. And we all have Kenny to thank for that."

Then Eric Cartman.

"I just wanted to thank all of you for being here. I know it would mean a lot to our dear old pal." He paused. "Kenny McCormick was the greatest friend anyone could have. I did some selfish things in my childhood, and I know that I often alienated myself from many of my friends. But never Kenny; Kenny didn't judge, because he knew that everyone made mistakes. Like Stan said, he's always willing to help a friend. He even offered great advice to me when I was first starting up my fast food empire, 'Cartman Burger,' which incidentally—"

"Cartman…" Kyle warned.

"—is offering an incredible discount—"

"Cartman," Kyle said firmly. "We agreed: no sales pitches."

"Sorry. Anyway, he's the guy that sticks with you, no matter what. If he hadn't stuck with me all those years, my other friends would probably have given up on me long ago (Stan and Kyle exchanged a solemn nod), so I owe him for that."

Cartman stepped down, and Senator Wendy Marsh immediately stood up. The crowd sat with bated breath, not wanting to miss a word. Bebe Stevens and the rest of the CNN news team held out their microphones eagerly.

"What to say about Kenneth McCormick?" Wendy began. "Kenny was the guy everyone knew around town, though many not very well; he was the poor man, who nobody ever thought would amount to anything.

"This turned out to not be true; he applied himself, worked hard, and earned enough to make a decent living, which wasn't much, but it was more than his parents could have said while Kenny was growing up. If his parents were still alive today, I know they would have been proud of how far Kenny went with what he had.

"But even more importantly, I think, is how much Kenny changed since his childhood. We all knew Kenny for his promiscuous way during those early years. It was something that was well known about him, and frankly it was something that I looked down on him for."

Wendy paused. One could have easily heard a pin drop.

"As you all know, I…was recently involved in an affair with my childhood crush, Eric Cartman. When my husband, Stan, found out, he was all ready to sign divorce papers, and I honestly couldn't blame him. But Kenny was the one who convinced us of how much we still loved each other, and told us we could make our marriage work. I think, if we had split up, we would have both regretted it.

"All this is to say…well, that I misjudged Kenny. I thought he cared little for marriage, but I know now that there was no one who placed as much value on the institution as he did. He was a great man, and we will all miss him."

Wendy stepped down and was immediately embraced and kissed by her husband, proving how much Kenny had done to save their marriage. Butters Stotch went up the podium next.

"Kenny always pushed me to improve myself; I guess he must have done a good job, because I rarely stutter anymore. He also offered plenty of advice for my dating life, which I suppose he did have some experience with. His constant coaching has done wonders to my self-confidence, and it gave me the courage to finally pop the question to Lexus. I kn-know h-he would have wanted to come to the w-wedding next month."

Then Kenny's widow, Lizzy McCormick, got up. Her eyes were red and puffy, but now there were no tears in her eyes anymore.

"I've never been good at speaking publicly, like our honorable senator. So all I will say is this. Wendy is right; Kenny valued our marriage more than anything, and I have never met a more loyal man in all my life. It's not easy to be the wife at the funeral, but today…the only emotion I feel is pride, because I consider myself the luckiest woman on the face of the earth to have been married to him."

Finally, it was Kyle's turn.

"Everything that I wanted to say about my friend Kenny has already been said, except this. Kenny always tried to be a pleasant guy. Whatever pain he felt from being under his curse, he kept hidden from us, so we wouldn't worry about him.

"He probably spent a lot of his childhood very angry with us, since we couldn't remember him dying. But even in all his loneliness, he never let his friends down. What we owe him more than anything is how he saved our lives, over and over and over again. His selflessness is the reason we're still alive; the same selflessness that drove him to get everyone out of the school before it burned down, and he gave up the life he knew he wouldn't get back this time."

The elderly Mr. Garrison sobbed.

"Throughout almost his whole life he never got any thanks for what he did," Kyle went on. "I believe that was his greatest fear; that when he finally died for good, he would just be forgotten." He pounded his fist on the podium. "I say no! I say let a memorial be built right here in this cemetery, dedicated to the greatest man who ever lived! Let Kenny McCormick never be forgotten!"

* * *

><p>Later that day, Kyle made his way to the bar. Stan, Wendy, Cartman, Butters, and Lizzy were already there. "Mind if I join you?"<p>

"Of course not, Jew," Cartman replied offering him a sixth chair. Kyle sat down.

"Great speech," Stan said.

"Thanks."

Lizzy looked down into her scotch. "I just…can't believe he's gone."

Wendy put her hand on Lizzy's shoulder. "He's not gone. As long as we remember him."

"I agree," Butters said.

Kyle's drink arrived. He stood up and lifted his glass. "To Kenny."

All six glasses clinked in unison. "To Kenny," they agreed.

And from far above, a lonely figure watched. A figure who held a new scythe, had a new job, and yearned for the day he would be able to see his friends again. But for now, he let them go on with their lives. As he turned, he noted that, even on this cold day, his black cloak kept him incredibly warm.

Just like his old parka.

* * *

><p><strong>And so ends my first incursion into the realm of fanfiction. I hope you all enjoyed the ride.<strong>

**A couple of notes about this story: the idea is a follow up to the Coon and Friends trilogy, which solidified Kenny's deaths into South Park canon, and began to explain his curse. The Coon and Friends trilogy is undoubtedly my favorite South Park episode(s), and it is very thorough, but there were a few things that didn't fit, and I wanted to use this story to address them.**

**1. The trilogy seems to contradict the beginning of "Cartman's Mom is Still a Dirty Slut," which shows Kenny appearing out of nowhere (having been killed in Part 1). The method of leaving Hell willingly as opposed to staying as long as possible is meant to explain that (it also explains how Kenny comes back as a ghost in "South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut").**

**2. The trilogy doesn't explain why Kenny doesn't come back throughout all of Season 6. He was in Hell, trying make his credit last as long as possible.**

**3. Finally, the trilogy doesn't account for Cartman remembering Kenny's death in "Cartmanland" (however, it doesn't contradict it; keep in mind that Cartman is not present when Kenny tells the others about his curse). That means that there must be some way for people to remember, and some reason why Cartman is one of those people. **_**After**_** I came up with my explanation, I looked up the episodes: the next time Kenny is killed after "Scott Tenorman Must Die" is two episodes later…in "Cartmanland." It fit perfectly!**

**The other purpose of the story is, of course, to give Kenny a better ending than he got in the Coon and Friends trilogy. As good an episode as it is, Kenny is completely screwed over at the end. He's my favorite character, and I wanted to sort of complete what the trilogy had started.**

**Also, Kyle's theory in Chapter 21 about why only Mormons go to Heaven is really me stating my own theory about why Matt Stone and Trey Parker **set it up that way; they're probably trying to make a statement about how you act towards others being more important than your specific beliefs (which I partially agree with).****

**Chapter 2 was obviously written before the conclusion to "You're Getting Old" aired, but I took the angle of Stan repairing his friendship with Kyle, but still being a little cynical, and his parents remaining divorced (that's not quite what happened, but I was still pleased with how "Ass Burgers" turned out).**

**I would like to thank everyone who reviewed "My Name is Kenny," especially _start-to-rawr_ and **_**Cottontop,**_** who both submitted reviews for almost every single chapter. Special thanks goes to **_**John-SP150**_**, who reviewed constantly, and offered helpful insight. If you haven't read any of his own South Park stories, I highly suggest you check them out.**

**I do intend to keep writing, but don't expect to see new stories on here for a while. Whenever I publish again, I want to make sure I can update more consistently. I've got about two more South Park stories churning in my head, and I've also got ideas for some Star Trek fanfiction. **

**Thanks again. I hope to see you all later.**


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